


Portal to Hell

by FireflySummerwynd



Category: Poison (US Band)
Genre: 90s, Gen, Glam Metal, Other, hair metal, religious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflySummerwynd/pseuds/FireflySummerwynd
Summary: Not everyone believes in the supernatural, and just how dangerous it can truly be at Times. Those who DO believe can run the gamut from knowing such things exist, but mostly passing it off till they've absolutely undeniable proof, to those who're melodramatic about even a light bulb burning out swearing it's something paranormal.Bobby wasn't necessarily a naysayer when it came to the paranormal, but he certainly wasn't one to chalk an odd experience up to the paranormal, either. One Summer's Night on his band's "Native Tongue" tour'll Change the rest of his Life-and most likely the Lives of his band mates-as well as his opinion on the paranormal and what most everyone deems "evil".





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, trying to find something fun to do gets ya more than ya bargained for...

They always said there were things that went bump in the Night–spooks, specters, Ghosts, Ghouls, goblins, all manner of evil. Some Nights of the Year were purported to be more active than others when it came to these things and more running rampant and terrorizing those who walked the Paths of the Light. There were said to be sacred objects–which some even called relics–that’d protect anyone who wore or otherwise wielded them, that’d stop these things from being able to do anything to them, their hearts, minds, and Souls.

Bobby Dall, bassist of Poison, wouldn’t have necessarily called himself a naysayer, but he wasn’t a total believer when it came to these kinda things, either. He was just skeptical enough to need unwavering proof of something’s existence to fully believe it, but he was still open-minded enough that he knew there were things out there that he couldn’t see, much less Begin to understand. After all, one of his closest friends outside his band happened to be a Witch, as much as said band hated knowing that since they thought she was pure evil on two legs. If there was but one thing she’d taught him, it was to keep an open mind, for appearances could be far more deceiving than he’d have ever thought.

However, his Pagan friend had taught him many other things in the few Years he’d known her–namely how to read the Energy around him to pick up on things that might be left unsaid. That was as much for his own Protection as it was for those around him, regardless of their religious beliefs, ’cuz she never wanted to get a phone call saying he’d gotten into trouble that’d ultimately led to his Death he coulda avoided.

On the Night of June second, 1993, his band finished up the show they’d been slated to play at a venue roughly ten miles Southeast of the heart of Cincinnati, Ohio. They’d a Day off the next Day, which’d prolly be spent driving to their next tour stop at the Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. If they were gonna have a bit of Time to do something that didn’t involve being cooped up on their buses, it’d have to be after tonight’s show, but before bus call. Knowing them–even their chosen replacement for original guitarist CC DeVille–they’d prolly wind up finding a nearby bar to go drink at till none of them could walk anymore.

“Whew, what a show!” the band’s drummer, Rikki Rockett, crowed as they headed backstage once they’d finished up their set.

“Awesome, as always,” the other blonde–vocalist, Bret Michaels–agreed with a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said new guitarist, Richie, muttered with a shrug. “I guess I’m just ready to drink myself into sleep now.”

“Sounds about like what I wanna do,” the bassist agreed with a chuckle.

“I kinda wanna go check out a fairly local place before we’re stuck on a bus,” Bret said.

“Guess it depends on what it is and why,” the drummer told him, wiping off with the towel he was handed by his tech.

“The place’s called Bobby Mackey’s,” the shorter of the blondes said. “I know ya guys hate country Music and prolly won’t wanna go to a honky-tonk, but I wanna go more so for the Ghost tour than the Music.”

“Ghost tour?” This apparently grabbed Richie’s attention enough to make him rethink wanting to drink himself into a stupor for the Night.

“Yeah, apparently the place’s haunted out the ass, and they actually give Ghost tours every Night.”

Bobby listened as his best friend explained that back in the 1850s, there was apparently a slaughterhouse that served the Northwestern-most part of Kentucky and the Greater Cincinnati area. It’d been in operation till around the 1890s before it was inexplicably shut down, and one of the things that’d seemed to disturb anyone living nearby was how the Living River that ran alongside it was almost constantly red. Apparently, that’d been due to the improper dumping of blood and other Animal waste produced by the slaughter of the beef Cows that were killed there.

After that, some folks swore that Satanic cults’d converged on the place, but nothing could ever be proven in regards to that. Most of the other stories about this honky-tonk–not to mention whatever’d stood on the Land before it was any kinda nightclub–were damn near heresay. They were pretty much nothing but local legends that made for a good scare on Halloween, ’cuz no kinda paper trail could be found on them.

Even though none of them really liked country Music aside from Bret’s slight interest in it, they didn’t really see any harm in going to check out the place. They might get wasted off their asses and have to be practically carried back to their bus like most any other Night on a tour, but at least they could say they’d tried something new while they were at it. If not for that reason, the guitarist and rhythm section woulda vetoed their vocalist’s idea since he was really the only one who wanted to go for more than just drinking. After all, Rikki and Richie only seemed to be going for the aforementioned Ghost tour, and Bobby couldn’t care less, as long as he managed to get drunk by the End of the Night.

Upon pulling up outside what almost looked more like a small warehouse than a nightclub, though, the bassist started to get a really bad feeling. He didn’t like the Energy that was surrounding the place, which was bombarding him with hatred, evil, and mental images of things that seemed like they coulda happened at some point in the Past. Something told him that even getting off their bus was gonna be a bad idea, and he was hesitant to rise from his seat as the driver engaged the parking brake.

“Guys, I really don’t think we should do this,” he said, glancing out the windshield.

“Why not? Ya seemed like ya wanted to back at the venue,” Bret countered, pausing in walking off the bus as he turned to look at him.

“I don’t like the Energy around this place,” the bassist told them. “Something’s not right about it.”

“More of that crazy-ass Witch shit, man?” Rikki laughed, rolling his eyes. “What a load of shit.”

“Call it whatcha wanna–I know the Truth behind Dragonfly’s words when it comes to this kinda stuff,” Bobby said. “’Cuz I’m feeling shit I don’t normally feel, seeing shit in my head that I shouldn’t be seeing.”

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that his band–even young Richie–laughed off his words and headed off the bus toward this creepy-as-fuck warehouse-looking nightclub. Sometimes, being the baby of the band–at least, till said new guitarist was brought into the fold–had its drawbacks, and not being taken seriously was one of them.

Left with no choice but to go with them since even their manager, Howie, and bus driver, Jason, headed off the bus, the bassist forced himself up. They never split up so that anyone was alone ’cuz there was safety in numbers, even in a small town like whichever one this honky-tonk was located in. Being a rock star that was easily recognizable, if they happened upon anyone who was a fan of their band, just made safety even more paramount than most people’d wanna believe. Besides, he didn’t really wanna be left alone with the Energy that surrounded this place getting to him like it was, ’cuz who knew what could happen?

Inside the building, one of the staff who’d been hired specifically as a Guide for the Ghost tour already had the rest of his band grouped together. Bobby managed to catch up just in Time to hear her Begin giving a history on the place, starting back in the 1850s when the original slaughterhouse was built. She said that after it’d been shut down and the Satanic cults supposedly took over, the building’d stood till around the early-twentieth Century, which was when it was finally torn down.

After that, a new building that became a speakeasy, among other things, was erected in the 1920s and given the name Primrose. It’d operated fairly well up till the mob started converging on it from Cincinnati, former owner Buck Brady refusing to sell the place. That led up to all sortsa Violence, Mayhem, and bloodshed, not including grisly murders and even at least a couple suicides. Moving up closer to the 1950s, the place was reopened as another nightclub and Music hall, this Time under the name of the Latin Quarter. Again, business seemed to boom pretty well, despite all the rumors and legends that surrounded the place–which only grew longer when one wrote out a list of everything.

“It was during this building’s history as the Latin Quarter that more tragedy involving a young woman and a pregnancy outta wedlock struck,” the tour Guide, Melissa, continued.

“As if the first one from 1896 wasn’t bad enough,” Richie muttered, but she apparently heard him.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she agreed. “Anyway, Johanna was the daughter of the man who’d bought this place and opened it back up under that name. She fell in Love with one of the musicians that performed here, Robert Randall, and before they knew it, she was carrying his child.”

“If you’re going into a story of another botched abortion, just spare me,” Rikki groaned, already moving to cover his ears.

“Not in Johanna’s case,” Melissa told them. “Unfortunately, her father found out what was going on, and as the story goes, he arranged to have young Robert killed. When she found out what he’d done, Johanna tried to poison her father before going down to her dressing room in the basement and taking her own Life.”

The bassist couldn’t help a wince, if only ’cuz his given name was actually Robert.

“Ya all right, son?” an older gentleman who’d just walked up asked.

“Yeah, just–eh, part of the story she just got to kinda hits a nerve with me,” Bobby answered, nodding.

“Care to tell us why?” the Guide asked curiously.

“Well, everybody calls me Bobby, but my given name’s Robert,” he chuckled, sounding a bit nervous.

“Ah, Melissa just got to the part about Johanna,” the older man said. “Believe me, hits a nerve with me, too, son. My full name’s Robert Randall Mackey, so imagine how I feel when I think about that part of this Land and building’s history.”

“Wait, you’re the owner of this place now?” Bret asked, surprised.

“In the flesh,” Bobby Mackey laughed. “Bought the place in ’78 ’cuz I wanted a place for folks to be able to hear my own Music, but I knew I wasn’t gonna make the likes of some of my Influences, like Merle Haggard and Johnny Paycheck.”

“And that’s what I was just getting to when ya walked up,” Melissa chuckled.

“Well, have fun, boys,” he said. “She knows I don’t buy into this stuff, even though I don’t doubt some of the claims’ve that’ve been made all these Years since I bought the place.”

Unsure of what to make of the owner’s words as he walked off, the band, their manager, and their driver turned their attention back to the young Guide. She continued the tale of the building’s history where she left off, saying that Bobby Mackey’d decided to renovate and reopen as the nightclub they were currently in back in 1978. Ever since then, it seemed like paranormal activity’d done nothing but skyrocket in both intensity and frequency, most claiming this place either was or contained a portal that led straight to Hell.

Bobby grew even more uneasy as she started to lead them to the basement of the place, talking a mile a minute about how the guy Bobby Mackey’d hired as a caretaker’d started experiencing some strange shit right from the very Beginning. He swore up and down, even sideways and backwards, that he was being downright tormented, attacked, and even possessed by demons that were crawling up outta the old slaughterhouse Well he’d uncovered in the basement. When asked why he’d have uncovered the Well by the guitarist, Melissa said that it’d been covered over at one point in the building’s history, although she wasn’t exactly sure when that’d taken place.

“Carl claims to’ve had a Dream telling him to go down in the basement and dig, and that led to him uncovering the Well that was used for dumping blood and other remains when this place was a slaughterhouse,” she told them. “The basement’s actually the only remaining part of the old slaughterhouse.”

“Yeesh, this place’s creepy,” Rikki said as they got to the bottom of the stairs.

“You’re telling me,” the bassist agreed, clutching at the cross he always wore around his neck as if his very Life depended on it.

“This is the Well I was just talking about,” Melissa said as she paused next to a rickety-looking Wooden fence. “It’s partially sealed now, so it’s not like it can be used for drawing Water, dumping, or anything else.”

All six guys moved to take a peek, Bobby trying not to get any closer than he had to since he’d an even nastier feeling now than he did before. Looking over the crudely-made fence, he saw where the floor–joists and all–had been partially ripped up to reveal dirt and what looked like part of the building’s foundation. Almost right in the Center of the pit he stared into, there was a nearly perfectly-Circular hole in the ground that butted up against the stacked cinder blocks he thought was part of the foundation.

The second his eyes locked on that hole, which looked like it was more filled-in than it wasn’t, the bassist felt like he couldn’t breathe. It honestly felt like there was nothing but pure, unadulterated evil bleeding outta that thing, and he wanted as far away from it as he could get. Unfortunately, trying to move further away from it resulted in Richie pushing him forward again when he accidentally stepped on his toes.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets a really freaky experience in that basement, and the Trouble Begins...

Unable to retain his balance with so many bodies crammed so close to him in the small Space, nor catch himself on the Wooden fence before him, Bobby tumbled down into what he’d consider an Abyss of Evil. Narrowly avoiding whacking his head on the crudely-left subflooring that’d been torn up to even reveal this Well, he wound up with said body part almost down in it as he landed flat on his back. That, of course, didn’t feel too pleasant, considering the motorcycle wreck he’d gotten into a few Years ago that’d left him with a couple herniated discs in his lower neck, upper back area.

After catching his breath since his fall knocked the Wind outta him, the bassist made to roll over so he could get up. His band mates and manager were all asking if he was all right, concern marring their features and voices, and he knew at least moving’d appease them slightly. It took him a minute to actually roll onto his front, but the second he did, he really Wished he’d stayed like he was on his back.

Outta nowhere, it felt like a hand settled right between his shoulder blades, almost right where his herniated discs were. He suddenly felt like he was paralyzed and being shoved down almost so that he was eating the dirt he lay on, no way to fight off whatever was holding him down. Even as it felt like his heart rate shot up to two hundred, his vision Began to go a bit dim and it started to sound like his friends–even Melissa–were moving further and further away from him. The best way he could describe it was like having ear plugs in, or maybe like somebody’d stuffed his ears with cotton balls, ’cuz even his in-ears when he was onstage didn’t make him feel like this.

Seemingly as quick as it Began, the pressure on his back Ended with what felt like a forceful downward shove, which made him arch slightly. Bobby managed to gasp in a couple breaths as everything started to look and sound normal again, and he was elated to find that he could move again when he went to scramble up. The rest of his band seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief as he got to his feet, Bret and Rikki reaching over the Wooden fence to grab his hands when he made to climb back up.

“That’s it, guys–I’m getting the fuck outta here,” he said, something telling him using the word _hell_ wasn’t a smart idea.

“What, that scared?” the vocalist snickered, dusting off his friend’s back.

“You’re fuckin’ insane if ya stay in this place for another minute,” Bobby snapped, knocking his hand aside. “You’d be wise to get outta here while ya still can.”

Terrified outta his mind by what’d just happened to him, but not wanting to talk about it, he darted for the stairs quicker than any of his band mates’d ever seen him move before.

“C’mon, guys–ya know we don’t leave any of us alone for a reason,” Howie sighed, turning to the Guide. “It was a pleasure meeting ya, miss.”

“Likewise, boys,” Melissa agreed, shaking their hands. “I hope your friend didn’t get hurt when he fell.”

“Prolly not–Bobby’s a tough cookie like that,” Bret chuckled. He didn’t wanna mention those herniated discs to a perfect stranger, especially since he was obviously able to get up and move.

The quintet turned to head back upstairs, their Guide following behind as she made sure the basement Lights were turned off on their way out. By the Time they got back upstairs and out front, the bassist’d already made it to the bus and finished one smoke, now lighting a second with shaking hands. Now they were really starting to worry, ’cuz they’d never seen him react in a way that left him shaking like a leaf, whether he was anxious, cowering in Terror, or something else.

Even as they piled onto their bus to start their trip up to the outskirts of Akron at least a few hours earlier than planned, Bobby wouldn’t open up and talk to even the guitarist. The blondes were settled on their own bus for the Night, all of their crew split between the two buses while Howie wound up on that of the brunettes since that was the only other available Space.

As they drove Northeast once they took off, the bassist couldn’t get to sleep to save his Life, no matter how hard he tried. Right where he’d felt what seemed like an all-too-real hand shoving down on his upper back as if to stop him from getting up, he now felt a warm spot. It was almost like right after he got done with a workout, or maybe an infected area since the edges of those were always purported to be warm to the touch. The difference was that this warm spot felt like it was stemming from within him, deeper than merely flesh, and growing hotter by the second. In fact, it seemed to be growing so hot that even laying in his bunk nekkid with just a sheet over him was absolutely unbearable.

Desperate to cool off so he could get some sleep, Bobby kicked that lone sheet off and rolled so he wasn’t quite on his front, but not quite on his side, either. He let his right arm drop down outta his bunk, praying for a Breeze to suddenly blow through the bus to help with cooling him off. It felt like he’d been thrown into a furnace or an oven, even though he knew damn good and well it wasn’t really that hot. After what seemed like forever, he managed to get comfortable enough to drift off–but if he’d known what awaited him, he’d have begged for some magickal potion to forever keep him awake.

By the Time they arrived at their next destination, poor Bobby’d spent more of the Night awake than he hadn’t. Even after he’d managed to cool off enough to fall asleep, he’d been woken up by one nightmare after another that seemed all too real, not to mention downright bone-chilling. He couldn’t remember all the details of each one, but he was certain of a couple things–they all involved more Death than he’d ever wanted to be exposed to, and if it wasn’t him that died, it was his young son.

Terrified for said young son, he forced himself outta his bunk once he felt his and Richie’s bus lurch to a halt, quickly grabbing his jeans. He didn’t care if he was at a gas station in East Bumfuck, Egypt or at any of the venues his band was slated to play–something told him he _had_ to make a call home. Whether he and his wife were separated or not didn’t matter when he felt his only child might be in even the slightest Danger.

“Hey, Mishy,” the bassist said, glad his ex-wife-to-be actually answered.

_ “Bobby_–_the hell’re ya calling here at six in the Morn for?”_ Mishy grumbled.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting about the Time Changes,” he sighed. “Listen, I wanted to check in on you and Zach.”

_ “We’re fine,”_ the woman he’d married told him. _“Now I’m going back to sleep while I can.”_

“At least call the venue I’m playing later so I can talk to Zach,” Bobby begged before giving her the number to the place.

_ “We’ll see if I remember this later,”_ she grumbled, then the line went dead.

Swearing colorfully–although he was still careful not to use the word _hell_ for some unknown reason–the bassist slammed the receiver of the payphone he’d been using back into its cradle. He wasn’t gonna be able to rest or otherwise get anything done till he knew for sure that his son was still alive and unharmed. Those nightmares’d been way too real for him, and he knew anything could happen to his lil boy, even when he _was_ home to take care of him.

All through Sound check and the following interview–which he pled a headache to get outta doing–Bobby was practically running on autopilot. He wasn’t really paying attention to shit beyond what song got called out as they ran through their set list, his hands pretty much moving of their own accord as he played. Half their songs didn’t even have backing vocals provided by him, which was when he really got lost in his Thoughts.

Bret, Rikki, and Richie could see that something was going on with their friend as they worked through Sound check. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the Night before–and if he had, it’d been barely and full of disturbances. He was also a lot more short-tempered than he normally was, as if he were completely rotted already and it was bringing out his inner brawler, which didn’t happen as often as some might think. All in all, he just seemed like something’d been bothering him ever since they’d left that honky-tonk the previous Night–actually, ever since he’d fallen into the pit of that place’s basement. The only problem was that they couldn’t get him to talk to them, so they didn’t even remotely know what was wrong with him.

Given that they didn’t exactly have many options at this point, they decided to just keep an eye on Bobby and get him help, if it turned out he needed it. They hoped that whatever was going on–whatever was seemingly driving the bassist insane–was something that’d blow over, if they just gave it Time, and they wouldn’t have to call in outside help. What none of them–even the taller brunette–realized was that they’d eventually have to call in outside help, and from places they’d never expect to. This wasn’t just something that’d eventually blow over–it was far more serious than they coulda imagined, and the Trouble was only just Beginning.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby finally gets to talk to his son, but shit just keeps getting worse...

It took till almost six that Eve, according to Eastern Time, for Mishy to finally call the venue where Poison was playing that Night. The whole Time he was waiting for someone to tell him he’d a phone call, the poor bassist was ready to rip his hair out–and far more than just jokingly ’cuz he swore it made him hot. What really irked his nerves was that–due to having moved back to Florida a few months before they married in October of 1989–there wasn’t any kinda Time difference, now that he’d done some mental math. Why on Earth it’d taken her twelve hours to do something so simple, he hadn’t a clue, but he wasn’t focusing on that at the moment ’cuz he’d more important things to worry about.

Bobby couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief when he heard the voice of his two-Year-old son, which was Light and Airy with giggles. While he only heard about half of what Zach told him in regards to what he’d learned at daycare that Day, he was still able to have a decent conversation with him. Of course, that Ended with his son asking when he’d be home ’cuz he loved and missed him so much when he was gone like this.

“It’s still gonna be a while yet, buddy,” the bassist sighed, shifting the receiver from one ear to the other. “Chu know Daddy’s not gonna be near home and forget to see chu for at least a lil while.”

_ “But me miss chu, Daddy!”_ It was pretty obvious the boy was ready to burst into tears.

“I know, I know–Daddy misses chu and Mama, too,” he told him. Even though he and his wife fought more often than not these Days, he didn’t want a child who wouldn’t understand to think he actually hated her when he really didn’t.

_ “Chu gosta see me soon,”_ Zach whimpered, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind he was pouting adorably.

“Next Time I’m close to home, I’ll come get chu and Mama both, ’pessally if it’s one of my Days off where we can go out for Ice cream or something,” he chuckled.

_ “Yays! Want it to be_ soooon!”

Moments later, Bobby heard some kinda shuffling before he heard his estranged wife’s voice again, and he was hard-pressed to bite back a growl for some odd reason. As she told him she needed to get their son fed and ready for bed, he chalked it up to all the fighting they’d been doing lately, which was over everything from sex–or rather, a lack thereof–to what Color their bedroom should be repainted. He told her they’d talk again when he could manage to call, then the line once again went dead before he could even think about whether to tell her he still loved her or not.

Just like he’d done that Morn, the bassist slammed the receiver back down into its cradle, now ready to fight just about anybody that so much as looked at him wrong. He didn’t know what the hell’d come over him, but it felt like any Emotional Control he’d spent all of his twenty-nine Years working on had gone right out the window. Maybe it was just all the stress he was under, what with his pending divorce combined with replacing a crucial band member, recording a new album, and hitting the road again.

As Bobby headed back to his and Richie’s bus to grab something he’d forgotten earlier, the rest of the band stared after him. They’d already noticed the sudden Change in his Emotions, which he’d normally take great care to hide from them anytime something bothered him. Rikki was normally the most Fearless of them, Bret usually knowing how to handle him the best when he was upset, but even they didn’t wanna go anywhere near him. It actually seemed like they were more than a bit afraid of him, like they Feared just saying his name’d set him off and result in them eating their teeth for dinner. That resulted in the pair of blondes sharing a look with each other, then with their last remaining band mate, all wondering what they could do.

Over the course of the next month or so, even more freaky shit than the bassist simply having more of an attitude problem started to occur on a fairly regular basis. Richie was so freaked by some of the shit that was happening on the brunettes’ bus that he’d started sleeping on Bret’s and Rikki’s couch since he’d nowhere else he _could_ sleep. In fact, he wouldn’t go within six feet of the bus he was supposed to be on, whether said bassist was on it or in whatever venue they were supposed to be playing.

Another thing they’d noticed that was just as concerning was the fact that he was starting to look like a junkie, for lack of a better way to put it. There were now extremely Dark Circles around Bobby’s eyes, which seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his skull with every passing Day. Said eyes were also almost always bloodshot due to his obvious lack of sleep, which certainly wasn’t helping with his mood swings.

If they’d known what the bassist was hiding from them, though, they’d have been even more worried and terrified for their friend than they already were. They’d noticed that he’d taken to wearing long sleeves a lot recently–despite the fact that it was the heart of Summer and they were currently around the Chandler, Arizona area. Underneath those long sleeves were some seriously deep scratches that could really only be defined as claw marks, mostly in groups of three. They pretty much ran the entire length of both arms from his shoulders down to his wrists, and there was no disguising them any other way. They were simply too long and deep, not to mention a very angry red around the edges from where they were at least mildly infected.

The rest of the band also didn’t realize that a new one appeared almost every Time the word _hell_ or anything else even remotely related to it was used. None of them realized that a lotta Times, Bobby’d suddenly felt like something was biting him when those sorta words were used, or when they brought their cross necklaces anywhere near him. And he definitely hadn’t told them about waking up to feeling like he was being choked, not to mention like he was being sexually assaulted, which were the biggest reasons why he was getting so lil sleep lately.

“Guys, I’m really starting to worry about Bobby,” Bret said, having called a band meeting with Rikki, Richie, and Howie.

“Me, too,” the drummer agreed. “He looks like a fuckin’ junkie, dude.”

“He’s not on anything, unless ya count alcohol, though,” Richie said, arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees as they watched their friend from across the backstage area of the venue they were playing.

“Whaddaya mean, Richie?” their manager asked. “If ya know something we don’t, ya gotta tell us.”

“I didn’t really wanna talk about it at first ’cuz I thought I was losing it, but even I can tell things’re getting to a point that I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore,” the guitarist sighed. “That strange shit that drove me off our bus–I can’t describe it as anything short of paranormal.”

“Huh–what’s that supposed to mean?” Rikki asked.

“I mean, shit levitating and flying across the bus–usually at my face, and after I’d try getting him to talk to me,” he said. It was obvious he was biting back his urge to snap, knowing that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“What the hell?” the vocalist gasped, all their attention suddenly turning back across the room when they heard a soft, but pained cry from Bobby.

Said bassist’d bolted up from where he’d flopped across one of the couches in a desperate attempt at a nap and was now rubbing the back of his thigh right below his ass.

“Dude, ya all right over there?” the drummer called out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “Guess I just moved wrong as I was dozing off.”

Left with few choices as to what they could do since they knew trying to get the Truth outta him was gonna be a really bad idea, they simply watched as he stretched out again. It didn’t take long for Bobby’s eyes to start fluttering, an obvious sign of his exhaustion as he seemed to more so pass out than fall asleep. Once they’d drifted completely shut, the only movements they made were those always associated with the Dream stage of REM sleep.

None of them, not even Howie, could think of a single thing they could do to help the poor guy, starting with figuring out exactly what was going on. This whole situation was more like a train wreck than it wasn’t–they really didn’t wanna look, but they just couldn’t seem to peel their eyes away for even a second, and there wasn’t a thing they could do to stop the horror playing out before their eyes.

As they continued getting Richie’s account of what’d happened, the manager and pair of blondes were completely unaware of what was going on in their bassist’s head. The Dream he was having–which once again seemed all too real to him–looked a lot like the scene outta _Shrek_ where the title character and his sidekick finally made it to the Castle from which they were supposed to rescue a damsel of a Princess. Unlike that movie scene, though, this wasn’t just a form of an obstacle course for a hero to get through not once, but twice–this scene as pure evil, and every bit as sticky as quicksand. Once one fell into it, there was no escape from it, and struggling only made one sink into its depths faster than if they just stayed still and accepted their Fate.

Bret was the first to look over at their bassist as they finished up their band meeting, and therefore the first to notice the tortured look on his face. Richie realized once he followed the vocalist’s gaze that it was happening again, ’cuz he’d seen the taller brunette wear that expression a few Times before he stopped sleeping on their bus. Moments after they’d noticed his predicament, his eyes flew wide open and he looked like he was trying to scream as he looked up at them. It was the haunted, downright terrified look in those Chocolate eyes, though, as he seemingly begged them to help him that struck them to the depths of their very Souls.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys decide to essentially start a War when things escalate to the point of canceling the "Native Tongue" tour...

By the Time November of 1993 rolled around, things were so bad with Bobby that Richie actually up and quit the band one Night. Even sleeping on the blondes’ couch didn’t make him feel safe anymore, and he was apparently the only one who saw some of the shit that made him live in constant Terror. Shit like the bassist’s eyes flashing red when he got pissed at something–or just turning completely black from one corner to the other. His sudden hatred for just about anything religious, especially if it could be linked back to Christianity, Catholicism in particular. And one shouldn’t even get the poor guitarist started on the couple Times he’d slammed him up against a wall by his throat in the midst of one of those fits of Rage.

With no one who could replace the guitarist on such short notice, they were forced to End their tour a couple months earlier than originally planned. That suited the taller brunette just fine, ’cuz he was so sick of being on the road at this point that he’d been ready to drive his bus off a Cliff. He didn’t seem the slightest bit upset about it like he’d been when they’d been forced to cancel part of their _Flesh and Blood_ tour a couple Years ago due to tensions with CC escalating.

Finally getting Richie to crack about some of the shit he’d seen and otherwise experienced was like trying to nail Jello to a Tree, but Bret and Rikki finally managed to. They were downright horrified by most of what he’d to say as he’d packed his bags, but it finally brought them to a conclusion they hadn’t even thought of. There were clearly Forces at work here that went well beyond a simple Ghost, and it seemed far worse than something one might dub as an Elemental Spirit. Being told that Bobby reacted downright violently–to the point of almost killing the guitarist one Time–when crosses or the like were brought near him just reinforced that particular belief. The thing that it really scared them with, though, was that there was only one way to combat what was slowly tearing their Lives apart–at least, that they knew of.

Upon finally getting back home from the tour they’d cut short, the rest of Poison started trying to find ways to help their friend. The first thing they did was find the nearest cathedral to where they lived in the Los Angeles area so they could pay it a visit. While no one there might be able to help them by actually taking the initiative on anything, maybe they could at least point them in a Direction to run in, so to speak.

The second the Major Archbishop they talked to heard a thing about scratches, nightmares, and eyes that Changed Color or shape at random, his face turned white as a sheet. With lil, if any preamble, he excused himself from the room, leaving the trio who normally wouldn’t come to such a place no choice but to twiddle their thumbs as they waited. They weren’t too sure what’d freaked him out so bad, but they were Beginning to think that whatever was going on, it was even worse than they’d originally thought. It could even be to the point that there was nothing anyone could do to help, never mind save their friend before it was too late.

“Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce Bishop James Long,” the man said upon his Return a short while later.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the second man, whom couldn’t have been much older than his mid-forties, said as he took a seat next to the first. “What ails your Souls this fine Day?”

“Well, it’s not really us, _per sé,”_ Bret said, sharing a look with his band mates and manager.

“It’s actually another friend of ours,” Howie spoke up.

“And how can I help your friend, whether they’re currently present or not?” Bishop Long asked.

“Well, some really freaky shit–pardon my French–started happening one Night a few months ago,” the drummer started.

“We’re in a band, so we were on tour at the Time,” the vocalist continued. “It’s pretty easy to get into a rut, so we try to Change things up as much as we can within reason.”

“Understandable,” the Bishop said, the Major Archbishop next to him nodding his agreement.

“So when Bret suggested checking out a bar that was local to one of our shows back in early-June–well, we weren’t exactly thrilled ’cuz he’s the only one of us that’s really into country Music,” Richie told them. “It was more so the Ghost tour he mentioned that caught my attention.”

“Ghost tour?” Major Archbishop Muñoz asked.

“Yeah, the place was supposedly haunted out the ass,” the guitarist answered with a nod of his own. “I don’t really put much stock into that kinda shit ’cuz I’ve been a skeptic all my Life.”

“We just kinda went along with it ’cuz it was something we’d never done before, on tour or at home,” Rikki agreed. “Bobby didn’t seem like he was interested in anything but getting drunk–again–that Night, and was just along for the ride, so to speak.”

“Once we got to the place, though–well, that was when he seemed to Change his mind outta nowhere,” Bret said. “Claimed he didn’t like the Energy around the place, or something like that.”

“Do elaborate, son,” Bishop Long said, his brows furrowing.

The vocalist explained how the taller brunette claimed one of his friends from outside the band was a Witch, much to the Catholic pair’s dislike, and that she’d taught him how to read Energy. As far as they knew, the bassist was as Christian as it got, right down to wearing a cross around his neck–at least, till recently–and reading his bible like the rest of them. He just used being able to read Energy to steer clear of certain people more often than not, which’d saved him from getting attacked on tour numerous Times.

Having thought he was kidding more so than he wasn’t, that those kinda things were just coincidences, they’d down-played his saying he didn’t like the Energy around this bar and headed in, anywhore. The Ghost tour hadn’t exactly been what they’d have called fascinating, but seemed more like a gimmick designed to draw in customers than anything.

Only when Richie got to the part about their being a Well in the basement did the Bishop hold up a hand to make him pause and actually start asking questions more so than listening. They weren’t quite sure what his train of Thought was, but something told the trio they weren’t gonna like whatever it was any more than they liked the situation already at hand. What they weren’t expecting, though, was for Bishop Long to turn even whiter than the Major Archbishop’d turned before practically fleeing the room earlier when they told him the name of the bar they’d gone to and its location.

“Dear God in Heaven above,” he all but whispered, making the sign of the cross over himself.

“What–What’s so bad about the name of a bar, and where it is?” Bret asked.

“I’ve not only _heard_ of Bobby Mackey’s–I’ve _dealt_ with it in the Past,” the Bishop answered. “I know for a fact that there’s demonic entities there, many of which’ll follow patrons home to torment them there.”

The musical trio blanched when he said that, their normally lightly-tanned flesh turning a sickly ashen hue.

“We’ve to find your friend immediately,” Bishop Long continued. “If things’ve already escalated as far as you claim they have, he’s in dire need of my help.”

“Oh, my God,” Rikki breathed, pure Terror shining in his eyes. “Is that why he’d have quit wearing his cross?”

“No doubt about it–the demonic hate anything to do with Christianity, which’d include crosses, holy Water, the bible, prayers, etc.” The Bishop gave them a no-nonsense look that actually bordered on deadly. “If he stopped wearing his cross, he’s left himself open and even more vulnerable to attack–even possession–than he ever was before.”

“We’re gonna have to call his ex-wife, then,” the drummer said. “They mighta gotten divorced a couple months ago, but they moved to Florida shortly before the wedding in ’89.”

“And he wouldn’t have headed anywhere else unless he was really bad off,” Bret agreed. “Or thought he might hurt their son, who’s pushing three now.”

“Then let’s pray he _didn’t_ go home,” Bishop Long said. “As much as he no doubt wantsta see his son, that’s the last place he needsta be, if he’s so much as oppressed by a demon. Whether he meant to or not, he prolly _would_ kill the boy, even his mother, if set off the right way–and he wouldn’t even mean to.”

The trio and their manager nodded, relieved to’ve found somebody that was taking this whole thing seriously instead of just saying they were crazy. Even if he hadn’t already known about Bobby Mackey’s and the shit that apparently went on there–not to mention plagued staff and customers for Years, if not decades–he coulda simply laughed in their faces and shown them the door. At best, he coulda said the only thing he could do for any of them was pray, but still shown them out without trying to do anything more.

Looking back on that Night back in June, they were all starting to Wish they’d taken _Bobby_ even half as seriously as this Bishop was taking them now. Maybe if they’d just listened to him when he said he hadn’t liked the Energy surrounding that honky-tonk, stayed on the bus, and left as quickly as they’d arrived, they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. They wouldn’t be Beginning a battle to help and save their friend, which was no doubt just the next step in a War he’d already been waging, if only in his own head, for months. There wouldn’t be any trying to track him down before something really bad happened, like him possibly killing his young son or the demon plaguing him winning this religious War by killing him.

Within moments of getting into Bishop Long’s office, Howie was on the phone with Mishy, who swore up and down she hadn’t heard from her now-ex-husband since the Day they signed their divorce paperwork. She’d thought that kinda strange, especially once she found out they were Ending the tour earlier than originally planned. Whether they got along or not, Bobby never gave up a chance to spend Time with Zach, and she figured he’d have been on the first plane to Florida as soon as he coulda been. She’d no other places she could think of off the top of her head that he mighta gone, and the guys shot each other a look.

If his own ex-wife didn’t know where he was, things were about to get really bad for all involved, but none more so than the bassist. That was when Rikki face-palmed as he snatched the receiver from their manager and started dialing a phone number he just barely had memorized. There was one other person who might have an idea, if only ’cuz the taller brunette supposedly told them more than he’d ever told Mishy.

“Dragonfly, it’s Rikki,” he said once he heard someone answer. “Listen, I need your address, and I need it yesterday–this shit’s best discussed in person.”


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys manage to find Bobby, but they don't like the apparent state they find him in...

_“Get outta my head!”_

With a scream that sounded like a cross between guttural and inhuman, Bobby flung the nearest object–a framed picture of himself and Mishy with a giggly Zach between them–at whatever wall was in front of him. He’d come to the vacation home he’d bought up in Utah, which was meant to be a surprise for his wife and son, when they’d officially decided to End the tour early.

He still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, just that something was attacking him almost constantly, whether he was awake or asleep. He was also well-aware of the personality Change that led to wild mood swings–wilder than any his mother’d ever claimed he’d suffered as a hormonal teenager. The bassist was terrified that if he went back home to Florida, Mishy and Zach’d wind up dead by the very next Morn, his now-ex-wife in particular. Normally, he wouldn’t have said he hated her–even after their divorce’d been finalized back in October all of a week before their fourth anniversary–but right now, he’d definitely say he hated her and then some.

Even as he slid down the counter in his kitchen and let out what could only be described as gut-wrenching, Soul-shattering sobs, Bobby couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to kill someone. His ex-wife, his son, his mother, his siblings, his band, even himself–no one was off-limits to his tormented, besieged mind right now. Whatever’d been messing with him to the point of getting his tour cancelled–and no doubt his divorce fast-tracked–was just making him wanna End it all.

That was when a sudden Thought popped into mind, and the bassist was all for giving it a shot, ’cuz he’d a far bigger zest for Life than to simply kill himself and anything was better than living like this. He hadn’t been able to so much as look at a cross in months, lest it feel like he was being burned wherever it touched, hence his sudden refusal to wear one. The one thing he _hadn’t_ tried, though, wasn’t the least bit Christian–it was as Pagan as it got, and he hoped this worked rather than backfiring on him. It was that Thought that made Hope grow within him, despite the sudden pounding headache it caused as he crawled toward something.

“When I said get outta my fuckin’ head, I damn well meant it!” Bobby snapped, grabbing something outta a Cedar chest he hid all sortsa shit in.

While he didn’t necessarily hear a roar in his head like he heard when he got near a cross, he could still tell that whatever was messing with him didn’t even like him grabbing the Pentacle he’d sought. The surprising thing was that this Pagan symbol of Protection made him feel even Calmer and more at ease than his cross’d made him feel in months. It felt kinda like rubbing calamine lotion over a poison ivy outbreak when he was a kid, yet at the same Time, there was so much more to it.

“I don’t give a fuck whatcha are–you’re _not_ keeping Control over me!” he swore, rising to his feet once he’d slipped the chain the Pentacle hung from over his head. “You’ll have to kill me to do that, and even then, I’m not going down without a fight!”

Back down in Southern California, Rikki was busy hanging a left on a park access road practically right next door to the Ventura Beach RV Resort. He’d been just as surprised as the rest of the guys when the woman he’d called had told him to meet her at the Seaside Wilderness Park. Apparently, that was a close as they were getting to her home in a car, which was exactly how she’d wanted it when she’d managed to buy a small part of the park in exchange for being what amounted to its live-in caretaker.

Once he was parked and the five guys in his car’d gotten out, the Bishop and Major Archbishop they’d been talking to pulling into a parking space right beside him, the drummer started looking around. He’d never actually met this Dragonfly that their bassist talked so highly of, so he didn’t actually know what she looked like. He only recognized her voice from the handful of phone calls he’d overheard Bobby in the middle of with her, so he’d know her once he heard her call out or something. At the moment, though, there wasn’t a Soul in sight beyond the small group who’d just Traveled here from the Western edges of Los Angeles.

“Over here!”

Turning toward where he’d heard the familiar voice from, Rikki spotted a relatively short woman whose hair was so long, it hung down her back like a Dark cloak–when the Wind _didn’t_ catch and play with it, that is.

“So _you’re_ the infamous Dragonfly, huh?” he asked after walking over to her so they could actually hear each other over the roar of the nearby Pacific.

“That’s my Craft name,” the woman answered, accepting his handshake. “Well, part of it–it’s actually Dragonfly Serenade Silverwing, in its entirety.”

“Where on Earth did ya come up with that?” Bret asked, also shaking her hand. “And why?”

“Craft names’re kinda like an alias that a Witch uses during Coven meetings and the like,” she explained. “They’re meant to Reflect who we are at heart. _Dragonfly_ Reflects my being wise beyond my Years, _Serenade_ came from my Love of the Stars and Space in general, and _Silverwing_ denotes my often seeming psychic from paying attention to shit most wouldn’t since I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a medium or anything.”

“I guess that’s one way to pick an alias, no matter what it’s used for,” Richie said, taking his turn to shake her hand.

“Unless you’re gonna keep calling me Dragonfly, just stick with Aisling,” she chuckled. “That’s my legal middle name, and usually not quite as big a mouthful as Morrígan.”

“What the–” the shorter blonde started.

“Celtic Goddess of War and Death, among many other things,” Aisling laughed. “My mother was a nut for the Celtic Pantheon with a bit of Greek and Roman thrown in for flavor.”

“Guys, I don’t think we could have a better person on our side for going into a somewhat literal War,” Rikki spoke up, giving a solid look to the men he was surrounded by.

“I sense a doozy, so back to the cabin,” the young woman said. “Even the obvious Catholics, ’cuz I get the feeling that–my mortal enemies in a religious sense or no–they’re key players here.”

A bit startled that she’d realized what Faith they were of, given that they’d changed into street clothes before coming here, the six males just shot each other looks as she turned to head toward what was obviously the mouth of a hiking trail. They didn’t exactly have much choice but to follow her, so they headed off behind her, none of them exactly comfortable as they followed her down the trail toward a stand of Trees that made up the main part of this Wilderness park.

It didn’t take but a few minutes for them to get around the massive left-hand turn in the walking trail Aisling led them down, a slight right-hand turn just up ahead. About halfway between where the left-hand turn finally Ended and that right-hand turn Began, though, she paused and looked around as if checking for witnesses she’d have to hurt or something. Once assured the only ones with her were the six guys, she shoved back a patch of brush to reveal a trail that wasn’t marked on any map a tourist or other park visitor could get their hands on.

Holding the brush outta the way, the young woman waved the six guys down the trail she’d revealed before starting down it behind them. She only paused long enough to pull the brush back into place so it obscured the unmarked trail again, then gently pushed her way through the quintet. Taking the lead again, she headed only about a hundred feet into the stand of Trees, where a clearing suddenly appeared before them.

Practically in the dead Center of the clearing was a small cabin that was borderline being a rickety shack, Smoke drifting up from its Stone chimney. It wasn’t thick enough to draw attention, ’cuz it’d dissipate before any park-goers could really catch a glimpse of it once it rose above the canopy above their heads. The six guys were a bit surprised by how Medieval the place looked, but they still followed Aisling as she led them up to the front door. It wasn’t just the exterior of this small abode that appeared Medieval, though–stepping foot into the place made it quite clear that the interior was just as much so. She lived completely off-grid with only sparse furnishings, which were quite modest, in and of themselves, but she seemed to like it.

“Why choose to live out here like this?” Bret asked.

“Not very materialistic, and besides, I find more Peace out here in this small Wood by the Sea than I do in the middle of even a small city,” she answered.

“Still seems a bit strange,” Richie said.

“Well, everything about the Craft and one of its Practitioners is bound to seem strange to y’all,” the young woman laughed. “But hey, I needed somewhere to live, and the park service needed a more or less live-in caretaker for this small park–after a lil bit of haggling with one another, we both got what we wanted, so it works out.”

“Can’t really argue that,” Rikki chuckled. “Hopefully no more than you’ll argue helping us, even with a pair of Catholic higher-ups involved.”

“Depends on what’s going on, and who’s involved,” Aisling told him. “Whether I wanna or not, there might not be anything I can do.”

“To be blunt about it, we’ve gotta find Bobby–and with a quickness,” the drummer started, gladly taking the glass she handed him.

“Whyddaya need to find Bobby, though? I thoughtcha knew where he was since he said he was supposed to be on tour till January,” she said, her brows furrowing as she passed out drinks to the others.

Taking a deep breath, the taller blonde started to explain everything that’d been happening ever since that Night back in early-June. He started with Bret suggesting they check out that honky-tonk for shits and giggles up to the crazy shit that’d been happening, this Time managing to explain what’d happened to the bassist personally without getting cut off.

Aisling’s face turned whiter and whiter, the further he got into his story, to the point that she was actually drawing some symbol over herself much like Bishop Long’d drawn the cross over himself earlier. She also seemed to be muttering under her breath, even as she listened to him continue with how it’d almost looked like the bassist’d tried to move into a position to push himself up, but physically couldn’t for a few moments. They’d never been too sure about whether he was completely unable to for those few seconds, or if he’d just been a lil too breathless at first after rolling onto his front.

“This is fuckin’ bad,” the young woman said, shoving her hair outta her face as she moved to a chest across the room.

“Whaddaya mean?” Richie asked.

“All right, there’s some shit Bishop Long and Major Archbishop Muñoz’re gonna know about demons that I’m not, for obvious reasons,” she said. “Firstly, demons’re pretty much wholly of monotheistic construct–they’re naught but the demonized versions of Pagan Deities, mostly Gods.”

“Seriously?” the vocalist asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Seriously, which means that–like any other supernatural Force–they’ve only as much Power as one gives ’em,” Aisling answered. “And if anyone’s been feeding this thing in any way, it’s only grown stronger. Even the Anxiety of going onstage can feed it, ’cuz that’s a form of Fear, even if it doesn’t seem like it at first glance.”

“Shit, that’s definitely not good,” Bret said.

“Now, as for why it woulda seemed like he might not’ve been able to physically push himself up–the simple answer’s that he prolly couldn’t,” she continued.

“I’m terrified to ask what that’s supposed to mean,” Rikki told her, almost whimpering in Fear.

“Given what y’all’ve told me so far, he sounds like he’s well on his way to demonic possession,” the young woman said. “I dunno the stages of possession very well–that’s something a Catholic’d know better than me. Still, the first demonic attack he’d have experienced would be feeling like he was being held down or somehow messed with, but not seeing or hearing anyone actually do it.”

“And he was the only one who fell into that pit that Night,” the drummer breathed.

“It was like he lost his balance or something,” Bret agreed.

“That was prolly my fault,” the guitarist said, his face heating up. “He took a step back and stomped on my toes, so I tried to push him forward just enough to move my feet.”

“And if y’all were crowded into a small Space, that woulda caused a loss of balance pretty easily, whether ya meant to make him fall or not,” Aisling said, eyes locked on the shorter brunette of the band. “Honest mistake that anyone coulda made, so I doubt anyone’s gonna truly hold it againstcha.”

She continued by saying that them noticing him arch slightly before he was able to push himself up was prolly something trying to possess him right then and there. How much Success it woulda had, she wasn’t sure since she hadn’t witnessed the event for herself, but it didn’t seem like there’d been much. Then again, it coulda very well been a more lesser demon that just wasn’t as powerful, and it’d been forced to build up to this point as Time passed.

Rikki told her that things’d slowly seemed to spiral outta Control over the last few months, and he wasn’t sure if it was shit that was already slated to happen, or if it was actually caused by a demon. Bobby’d been going through a divorce when they’d first hit the road, and instead of reconciling their differences, he and his wife’d wound up going through with the divorce.

Of course, that led to a bit of a custody battle over their young son, and the bassist’d only been granted every other weekend with the boy when he wasn’t on tour. Naturally, any parent’d be upset at that kinda deal being worked out, but it seemed to hit the taller brunette harder than anyone’d expected. They hadn’t been sure if he was just that much more in tune with his Emotions than they’d given him credit for, or if it was something else. Either way, they said that–when he wasn’t pissed and trying to kill Richie–he was simply downright depressed to the point that it was hard to even get him outta bed some Days.

“That’s a clear sign that he’s being oppressed, son,” Bishop Long stated matter-of-factly. “Depression’s often a symptom of that stage, usually right as the Will and Faith of the person’s reaching its breaking point to where the demon can take full possession of them.”

“Question is–why would y’all come to me for help finding Bobby?” Aisling asked, her brow cocked.

“’Cuz we dunno where the fuck he is,” Bret grumbled, his frustration obvious as he shoved his hair back outta his face.

“He didn’t go home to Florida like we thought he was gonna, ’cuz Mishy swears she hasn’t heard from him since they signed the divorce papers,” Richie told her. “She thought that was kinda odd, ’cuz she thought the first thing he’d do after Ending a tour’d be to get his first weekend with Zach.”

“And I’m the only other person he ever tells his deepest Secrets and hiding places to,” the young woman said, which only confirmed their suspicions.

“Which means we’re gonna need your help in figuring out where this young man’s run off to before it’s too late,” Major Archbishop Muñoz stated.

“Then you’ll have to put up with one of my Spiritual practices for a few minutes,” Aisling told them. That was when she finally opened the chest she’d moved to stand in front of some Time ago and started pulling out various items.

“So you’ve already got an idea about where he could be?” Rikki asked.

“I do, but I want it at least somewhat confirmed before I go pointing y’all in its Direction,” she answered, sounding a bit muffled.

Once she rose from the knee she’d dropped to, they saw three different colored Candles in her hands, and they all suffered a collective shiver when they saw that one was black. The young woman settled the three chunks of wax on what she apparently used as a coffee table, quickly striking a match as she muttered something under her breath.

As she lit the black Candle, they were surprised to feel a sudden shift in Energy that felt like any and all negativity was suddenly sucked outta this lil cabin with a vaccum. Lighting the white Candle she’d grabbed made it feel like more positivity than they ever coulda Dreamt of filled the Energetic void left in its wake. Maybe there _was_ something to this Witchcraft thing, after all, and it wasn’t nearly as evil as most folks thought it was. They weren’t too sure what to believe anymore, aside from the fact that Bobby was obviously in trouble, but they were willing to take help from just about anywhere.

That was when Aisling lit four different chunks of charcoal after laying them in a bed of white Sand that was in the Center of this coffee table-like thing. As she was letting them burn down till they were gray, she moved back to that chest and dug around for a moment before Returning to where she knelt down again. As she dropped whatever was now in her hands on the pieces of charcoal, various scents filled the room, most of them seeming to smell like some kinda flower.

None of the guys paid the scents much mind as the chunks she called resin started to send Smoke wafting through the Air. Gently fanning the Smoke sent it drifting into every corner, nook, and cranny of what they’d have to call a living room, and that was when she finally struck one last match. Holding its small Flame to the wick of the Lavender Candle she’d pulled outta that chest, the heard Aisling asking for something under her breath. They weren’t entirely sure what it was, but it almost sounded like she was asking someone to Bless her efforts and protect her–not to mention _them_–as she worked while she shook the match to put it out so she wouldn’t set anything ablaze. With the match put out, she settled so she was sitting Indian-style and simply staring at the Flame of the Lavender Candle before her.

Unsure of what to do, the six guys simply kept their mouths shut and watched as she seemed to slip into some kinda trance right before their eyes. None of them were expecting that Lavender Candle’s Flame to suddenly grow to at least four inches in height, and no doubt two in width. They certainly weren’t expecting what seemed to be a miniature movie suddenly start playing within the Flame, but they were horrified by what they saw. The image before them was of Bobby on his back on what looked like a hardwood floor, sweaty and mouth open in an obvious scream as said back arched violently. He was clutching at something around his neck, and when his fingers spread slightly, they saw it was some kinda symbol–but it _wasn’t_ a cross.

“Fuck a Blessed Duck,” Aisling breathed, snapping outta her trance as quickly as she’d lapsed into it.

“Jesus Christ,” the group breathed collectively, shocked by what they’d seen.

“We need to head home to pack bags for everyone,” she said, blowing out her Candles before rising. “I know where he’s at, and we need to get there, like–yesterday. Otherwise, it’s gonna be too late to do anything for him.”


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aisling, the guys, and their Catholic helpers make it to where Bobby's supposedly hiding...

After managing to catch a flight up to Salt Lake City, Utah, Aisling was leading the group of men who’d accompanied her to find their rental truck. She was still the only one who knew where Bobby coulda disappeared to, but she assured them that they were far closer than they’d been in Southern California. The only problem now was that she’d pretty much no experience with driving in Snow, of which there was a shit-ton on the ground since it was November.

Rikki quickly stepped up to bat, so to speak, saying that he’d be willing to drive, knowing that all their Lives were in his hands. Having grown up outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he’d practically learned how to drive in this stuff as much as Bret had, even Richie since the guitarist’d grown up near Philadelphia. He was just the only one willing to take such a risk at the moment, and he was also the most level-headed, surprisingly enough. Not wanting to waste Time arguing over something stupid when Time was of the Essence, no one tried to argue with him as he took the keys from the young woman.

Once they were loaded up so that she was riding shotgun, he got them outta the airport parking lot and onto the road they needed to take to head North. They were basically on a combination of Interstates eighty, two-fifteen, and fifteen till Highway eighty-nine branched off that last interstate. From there, they’d take that highway for about ten miles before they were forced to merge onto I-eighty-four to continue East.

Maybe it was actually the Weather, maybe it was their desperation to get to their friend before the worst happened, but something seemed to make the drive take forever. Once Aisling finally told the drummer to take a certain exit, they were all practically biting their nails down to the quick in attempts not to rip their hair out. She said it shouldn’t be much longer, provided there were no road closures or anything, as they got off the final interstate and found themselves on the outskirts of a town called Mountain Green. She wasn’t too sure if the address of Bobby’s getaway was for that town, or another one nearby, but she knew they were closing in on said get away, all the same.

“All right, Time to hang a right up here on Weber,” she said, peering out the windshield in front of her. She was doing the scouting for road signs while Rikki was keeping an eye out for snarled traffic and other threats.

“How far am I going now?” he asked after safely executing the turn.

“Past Aspen and Spruce Circles,” the young woman answered. “Should be the second house on the left after that, unless they’ve built another one since the last Time I came up here.”

Rikki slowed down to an utter crawl so she could gauge what she was seeing better, considering the Sun’d set before they landed and it was Snowing heavily.

“Yepper, this is it,” Aisling said, pointing to the driveway in question. “Still the second house up from Aspen and Spruce, just like I thought.”

“Let’s hope he’s actually here, then,” Bret said, already unbuckling his seat belt as the taller blonde pulled in to park.

“I doubt he’d have gone anywhere else,” she responded, following his lead. “Unless he bought some other property I dunno about, this is the only place besides his Florida home I can imagine that he’d have gone, if he wasn’t in So Cal.”

As they were all piling outta the truck they’d rented after the drummer’d parked, they noticed someone slow to a full stop in the middle of the road. “I hope ya know the guy that lives there!” someone yelled moments later.

Walking closer to the truck, the young woman recognized the guy who owned the next house up and usually kept a spare key for Bobby. “So Bobby’s up here?”

“Damn, Aisling–I didn’t realize it was you,” the guy chuckled, then looked serious. “I dunno if it’s him or someone else, but whoever’s been here for the last week’s either crazy, or in some serious pain. Honestly, I’ve been too scared of the racket coming outta that house to go over and find out.”

“Ya still got his spare key, then, Dave?” Aisling asked. “That’ll make getting in there a shit-load easier, if he’s actually here.”

“Yeah, lemme run up to the house and get it since I don’t keep it on my key ring most of the Time,” he answered, putting his truck back in gear.

The rest of the band, their manager, and the Catholic higher-ups were shooting her curious looks as she turned around and headed back up the driveway they’d pulled into. She chuckled as she explained that that’d been Dave Sanders, the guy who owned the next house up and usually kept an eye on this place for whoever owned it at any given Time. Since it was currently owned by Poison’s bassist, that’s who he kept an eye on it for, which explained his possessing a spare key.

A sudden, obviously-agonized scream rent the Air from within the house in question as they waited, causing all of them to jump. Despite the guttural quality to the jarring Sound, they were able to hear it well enough to tell that it was definitely Bobby in there, and whatever he was going through wasn’t good. No doubt whatever demon was tormenting him was trying even harder to take over, which definitely meant Time was of the Essence, if they were gonna have any Hope of helping him. As it stood, it might already be too late to do anything, but the one thing they were counting on was the fact that he was a fighter.

Moments later, Dave came running across the yard separating his home from the bassist’s vacation home as quick as he could in the deep Snow. He couldn’t help wincing as another scream rent the Air seconds later as he turned over the spare key, and in all Honesty, neither could the rest of them. They’d to get in there and quick, and the young woman looked at the neighbor with an appraising glint to her eyes.

“How strong’s your Faith, whatever it is, Dave?” she asked, catching him off-guard.

“I’d like to think it’s pretty strong,” Dave answered. “Why on Earth would ya ask me something like that?”

“Dave, lemme introduce ya to some of Bobby’s friends–Rikki, Bret, and Richie,” the young woman started.

“A pleasure,” all of them agreed as they shook gloved hands.

“These two’re Bishop James Long and Major Archbishop Jorge Muñoz,” Aisling continued.

“Oh, shit–Bobby’s in some kinda religious trouble, if you’ve Catholic higher-ups involved,” the neighbor said, his eyes widening.

“We’re thinking he’s either possessed by a demon, or well on his way to it,” she admitted. “I dunno if we’re gonna be enough to hold him down, if we’ve gotta restrain him.”

“Lemme go get my boy before we dare unlock that door, then,” he said. “Jack’s been doing a shit-ton of weight-lifting at school–even at home–to help bulk up for wrestling and football.”

“Hey, I ain’t arguing an extra set of hands and quite a bit of muscle,” the young woman agreed.

Nodding, Dave took off through the path he’d cleared when he’d run over with the key, making his Time a lot faster than before. The rest of the group continued waiting in the driveway, even as a third scream rang out from within Bobby’s vacation house. None of them wanted to so much as approach the front door till they’d what they hoped was more than enough backup since they didn’t know what he was capable of right now.

Upon his Return with his seventeen-Year-old son, the neighbors got a quick, but thorough Blessing from both the Bishop _and_ the Witch. They wanted to cover their bases on both a monotheistic and polytheistic front to protect them from whatever’d been tormenting the bassist as well as they could. Once they’d been Blessed by both, their crosses in their pockets for the moment, the group turned toward the front door to converge like warriors going to battle. And the sad Truth of the matter, that’s exactly what they were–Spiritual warriors going to battle in an attempt to literally save their friend’s Soul.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group soon gets into the house, and shit quickly hits the fan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'ma give a quick, but specialized warning. I'd start skipping chapters till otherwise noted, 'cuz shit starts getting even more violent than what was mentioned in previous chapters for a while.  
~Angel

Inside the otherwise unassuming house, Bobby panted harshly where he’d collapsed on his living room floor a good hour earlier. Every Time he so much as thought about his friends and family, never mind tried to whisper even a Pagan prayer of Protection, it felt like something clawed, bit, stabbed, or shot him. No doubt he was a sweaty, bloody mess, and the sweat he could feel pouring off him–despite not even bothering to turn on the heat when he’d arrived a week ago–was only irritating his numerous wounds.

Begging any Deity that’d listen to him for one last chance to see his son before he died resulted in feeling like claws got shoved into his chest. The bassist couldn’t help a gasp, which led to him actually coughing up blood this Time, and he knew this was it–he was gonna die here without getting to tell those who meant the most to him how much he loved them.

He wasn’t expecting to hear a key in the lock of his front door as the blood finally slowed so he could breathe again, nor who was on the other side of it when it opened. Looking up through blurry eyes, he managed to make out the faces of his band mates and manager, four more men behind them. There was a lone female face, and once the woman moved close enough, he managed to make out the features of Dragonfly. That brought a slight smile to his face, but it quickly disappeared as he felt like something dug its claws in again.

“Get…outta here…while ya…still can!” he managed to rasp, which just made him cough up more blood.

“Not gonna happen, Bobby,” the young Witch said. “You’re coming outta this alive, or we’re all dying trying!”

Knowing how stubborn she was, Bobby knew there was no fighting her, even though he doubted she’d the slightest clue what she was getting herself into. “Just…be careful… This thing’s…sick and…evil.”

“What demon _ain’t_ sick and evil?” she chuckled, brushing his hair back. “So why would I be stupid enough to enter such a battle without reinforcements?”

Looking up, he realized that two of the men who’d been behind his band mates were obviously of high positions within the Catholic church. That brought him a slight amount of relief, to know that someone’d tried to get help and managed to get in touch with those who could actually help him. After that, the bassist didn’t remember a thing as his World suddenly went black, but his eyes remained physically open.

“Shit, get back!”

Aisling jumped back from her friend as she watched his eyes turn completely black, his expression shifting from one of a weakened, dying man to one of pure Power and utter evil. The other three members of Poison, Dave, Jack, and Howie all threw themselves against him when the bassist started to lunge for her, and she was glad. It took all six men to pin even this wiry fucker down so he couldn’t move, now that the demon trying to fully possess him was in Control for the moment.

Bishop Long took the items that Major Archbishop Muñoz pulled from his satchel and handed him, the six guys working together to literally chain Bobby to a chair. None of them thought that ropes or anything less than Metal was gonna be able to hold him down, ’cuz he was already pretty strong on a normal Day. Combine his normal Strength with the inhuman Strength of a demon, and there was no telling what he was capable of aside from just knowing he was dangerous as all hell right now. As if such a thing weren’t evident before, it certainly was when he hissed, growled, and let out an inhuman roar as he struggled, jerking at his bonds like he Intended to break free.

“We shall Begin with a prayer to St. Michael, the Archangel,” Bishop Long said, not surprised by the young man’s increased struggling. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost–amen.”

“Amen,” everyone, even Aisling, echoed.

“O, most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in the battle and in our wrestling against the principalities and Powers, against the Rulers of the World of this Darkness, against the Spirits of wickedness in the high places. Come to the aid of men, whom God Created incorruptible, and to the image of His own likeness He made them, and from the tyranny of the devil He bought them at a great price,” he Began.

“Fight the battles of the Lord today with the Army of the Blessed Angels, as once thou didst fight against Lucifer, the first in Pride, and his apostate angels,” he continued, the bassist now snarling at him. “And they prevailed not–neither was their place found anymore in Heaven. But that great Dragon was cast out, the old Serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, who seduces the whole World. And he was cast unto the Earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

“Behold, the Ancient enemy and murderer strongly raises his head! Transformed into an angel of Light, with the entire horde of wicked Spirits he goes about everywhere and takes possession of the Earth, so that therein he may blot out the name of God and of His Christ and steal away, afflict and ruin unto everlasting Destruction the souls destined for a Crown of Eternal Glory,” he continued, the Major Archbishop at his side.

The rest of the menfolk were still poised to grab and physically restrain Bobby, if the need were to arise, even as they listened Intently.

“On men depraved in mind and corrupt in heart, the wicked Dragon pours out like a most foul River, the poison of his villainy, a Spirit of lying, impiety, and blasphemy, and the deadly breath of Lust and of all iniquities and vices.”

With another snarl, the bassist tried to break free of his bonds, his eyes still pitch-black as every muscle in his body tensed so that his limbs looked like they were made of Stone.

“His most crafty enemies have engulfed the Church, the Spouse of the Immaculate Lamb, with sorrows–they have drenched her with wormwood. On all her desirable things, they have laid their wicked hands. Where the See of the Blessed Peter and the Chair of Truth have been set up for the light of the Gentiles, there they have placed the throne of the abomination of their wickedness, so that, the Pastor having been struck, they may also be able to scatter the flock.

“Therefore, O thou unconquerable Leader, be present with the people of God and against the Spiritual wickedness which are bursting in upon them; and bring them the victory. The Holy Church venerates thee as its Guardian and Patron, and it glories in the fact that thou art its defender against the wicked Powers of Earth and Hell. To thee, the Lord has assigned the Souls of the redeemed to be placed in Heavenly Bliss–beseech the God of Peace to crush Satan under our feet, that he may no more be able to hold men captive and to harm the Church. Offer our prayers in the sight of the Most High, so that the mercies of the Lord may quickly come to our aid, that thou mayest seize the Dragon, the Ancient Serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and that having bound him, thou mayest cast him into the bottomless pit, so that he may no more seduce the nations!”

Even though she hated hearing these words, the young Witch pushed those Thoughts from her mind as she poured out every last ounce of positivity she could dredge up from the depth of her own Soul.

“Hence confiding in thy Protection and Guardianship, by the sacred authority of our ministry, we confidently and securely Begin the task in the name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, of driving away the attacks of diabolical deceit. Let us pray,” Bishop Long continued.

At this point, everyone in the room joined in with him, even Aisling.

“O God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, we invoke Thy holy name, and we humbly implore Thy mercy, that by the intercession of the Mother of God, Mary Immaculate ever Virgin, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of Blessed Joseph the Spouse of the same Blessed Virgin, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul and of all the Saints, Thou wouldst deign to afford us help against Satan and all the other unclean Spirits and against whatever wanders throughout the World to do harm to the human race and to ruin Souls, through the same Christ, Our Lord, amen.”

The second the last _amen_ died away, Bishop Long nodded to Major Archbishop Muñoz, who started to take the chain out from around Bobby’s neck.

“Don’t take that off him!” the young Witch snapped.

“It’s a symbol of evil, child,” the Bishop said.

“Only to you,” she shot back. “To me–and more importantly right now, Bobby–it’s a symbol of Protection.”

“How so?” the Major Archbishop asked, sounding as curious as he did condescending.

“It’s a physical embodiment of the Five Elements–Spirit, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water,” Aisling explained. “The Circle around the Pentagram’s what Transforms it into a Pentacle, and thus a symbol of Protection.”

Every man in the room looked enthralled by her words.

“If it’s still as Charged as when I gave it to him, that’s prolly the only thing that’s stopped this demon from completely taking over,” she continued. “We take it off him now, and we’ve prolly no Hope left of exorcising this thing without killing him.”

That made Rikki, Bret, and Richie all turn Deathly pale, even as they looked into the pitch-black eyes of their friend, who simply snarled at them. Not wanting to be the cause of his Death when they were trying to help him, they decided to side with the Witch, who’d obviously know more about Pagan Charms and Amulets of Protection than any of them would.

After a moment’s Thought, Bishop Long decided that they needed all the help they could get, and if leaving the Pagan symbol around this man’s neck helped them, he’d take it. The look he shot at Major Archbishop Muñoz made the man take a step back, then kneel down to grab something else from the satchel he’d pulled certain items from earlier. Once he’d pulled it up into view where everyone could see it clearly, they’d no doubt shit was about to get crazy–no demon wanted a bottle of holy Water pulled out on it, and there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that’s what this was, judging by the Golden cross on the bottle.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exorcism really and truly gets underway...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna apologize to any Catholics reading this now. When I say I'ma literal Witch, I mean I'ma literal Witch. I researched the execution of an exorcism to the best of my abilities, but I may've gotten some parts wrong. Not only that, but the translations from Latin to English–which're in parentheses after each Latin part–may be a bit off since I don't actually speak Latin.
> 
> In addition, shit gets even more violent than in previous chapters. I basically felt like torturing Bobby when I wrote this, and torture him, I did.  
~Angel

Just as they’d all suspected, Bobby somehow managed to grow even more violent than what he’d already been the second he clapped those pitch-black eyes on that little bottle. They all got the feeling that he was just gonna get even more so as this next part–the actual exorcism–started, and they hoped those chains restraining him would hold. If they didn’t and he proved to be able to break them–whether it was with the demon’s Strength or something else–it was all over for them, and they knew it.

As he unscrewed the lid from the lil bottle, Bishop Long adopted an expression Aisling’d swear a military General about to go to War would. She wasn’t surprised when his next words came out in Latin as he wet the tip of his right index finger with a few drops of the holy Water. Even as he moved toward the bassist to draw a cross on his forehead with it, she managed to pick out only a few words, and only ’cuz she knew a bit of Italian. If not for that, she’d have been just as long as everyone else with maybe the exception of Major Archbishop Muñoz proved to be.

_ “Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde Spíritus, ómnis Satánic Potéstas, ómnis Infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu Chrísti, eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis,”_ he said, ignoring the snarl he was given. _“Non últra áudeas, Sérpens callidíssime, decípere humánum génus, Dei Ecclésiam pérsequi, ac Dei eléctos excútere et cribráre sicut tríticum. Ímperat tíbi Deus altíssimus, cui in mágna tua supérbia te símile habéri ádhuc praesúmis, qui ómnes hóminess vult sálvos fíeri, et ad agnitiónem veritátis venire.”_

(We cast you out, every unclean Spirit, every Satanic Power, every onslaught of the Infernal adversary, every legion, every diabolical group and sect, in the name and by the Power of our Lord Jesus Christ. We command you, begone and fly far from the Church of God, from the Souls made by God in His Image and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb.

(No longer dare, cunning Serpent, to deceive the human race, to persecute God's Church, to strike God's elect and to sift them as wheat. For the Most High God commands you, He to Whom you once proudly presumed yourself equal; He Who wills all men to be saved and come to the knowledge of Truth commands you.)

No one was surprised by the inhuman roar Bobby let out as he drew that cross on his forehead, nor by the hiss that followed as he tried to lunge at the Bishop, despite the chains restraining him.

_ “Ímperat tíbi Déus Pater, ímperat tíbi Deus Fílius, ímperat tíbi Déus Spíritus Sánctus, ímperat tíbi majéstas Chrísti, aetérnum Dei Vérbum cáro factum, qui pro salúte géneris nóstri tua invídia pérditi, humiliávit semetípsum fáctus obédiens úsque ad Mórtem; qui Ecclésiam súam aedificávit súpra fírmam pétram, et pórtas ínferi advérsus eam númquam esse praevalitúras edíxit, cum ea ipse permansúrus ómnibus diébus úsque ad consummatiónem saéculi._

_ “Ímperat tíbi sacraméntum Crúcis, omniúmque christiánae fídei Mysteriórum virtus. Imperat tibit excélsa Dei Génitrix Virgo Maria, quae superbíssimum cáput tuum a prímo instánti immaculátae suae conceptiónis in sua humilitáte contrívit. Ímperat tíbi fídes sanctórum Apostolórum Pétri et Páuli, et ceterórum Apostolórum. Ímperat tíbi Mártyrum sánguis, ac pia Sanctórum et Sanctárum ómnium intercéssio.”_

(God the Father commands you, the Son of God commands you, God the Holy Ghost commands you, Christ, the Eternal Word of God made flesh, commands you, Who humbled Himself, becoming obedient even unto Death, to save our race from the perdition wrought by your envy; Who founded His Church upon a firm Rock, declaring that the Gates of Hell should never prevail against her, and that He would remain with her all Days, even to the End of the World.

(The sacred Mystery of the Cross commands you, along with the Power of all Mysteries of Christian Faith. The exalted Virgin Mary, Mother of Jesus, commands you, who in her lowliness crushed your proud head from the first moment of her Immaculate Conception. The Faith of the holy Apostles Peter and Paul and the ot-her Apostles commands you. The blood of martyrs and the devout prayers of all holy men and women command you.)

The more of the exorcism rights that poured outta this man’s mouth, the more Bobby struggled, and the more any Healing wounds this demon’d already inflicted tour open to allow blood to pour down his limbs and torso.

_ “Érgo, Dráco Maledícte et ómnis légio diabólica, adjurámus te per Déum vívum, per Déum vérum, per Déum sánctum, per Déum qui sic diléxit múndum, ut Fílium suum unigénitum dáret, ut ómnis qui crédit in eum non péreat, sed hábeat vítam aetérnam; céssa decípere humánas Creatúras, eísque aetérnae perditiónis venénum propináre–désine Ecclésiae nocére et éjus Libertáti láqueros injícere.”_

(Thus, Cursed Dragon, and you, diabolical legions, we adjure you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by the God who so loved the World that He gave up His only Son, that every Soul believing in Him might not perish but have Life everlasting; cease deceiving human Creatures and pouring out to them the poison of Eternal damnation–cease harming the Church and hindering her Liberty.)

At this point, Aisling wasn’t surprised to hear Bishop Long pause in his rites to demand a name from the demon, and she knew this was the part that got tricky. No being, human or inhuman, gave up that kinda Power over itself very easily, and this was the part the demon was gonna fight the hardest. This could very well be the point that cost the bassist’s Life, no matter what they did–it all depended on how strong he was physically, and whether he’d done anything to give himself a higher risk of something like a stroke or heart attack, which this could very well trigger.

While it didn’t take as long as it seemed, the Bishop was finally able to wear down the demon that’d mostly possessed him and get what he wanted to hear. Despite coming out as more of an inhuman roar, she clearly heard the name _Set,_ which was often mistranslated as _Seth_ amongst the World’s population. The young Witch couldn’t help her eyes widening as she recognized that name, an action–and Knowledge–she knew she’d eventually have to explain to his band mates and manager.

Now having use of the possessing demon’s name gave Bishop Long more Power over it, and the chances of this exorcism failing were pretty low. Once one got a demon’s name outta it, it had very little, if any fighting chances to fully possess its host rather than being sent back to the Pits of Hell. Still, they could only hope that Bobby was physically strong enough for this to work, that even if he _did_ suffer a few moments of physical Death, they could manage to bring him back. If not, then their attempt at helping him with this exorcism was for nothing, and he’d be taken away from the one who needed him more than anyone right now–his young son, Zach, would be left fatherless.

One final inhuman screech ripped up from the back of the bassist’s throat as he arched against the chains wrapped around even his torso. He almost looked like he was about to lapse into a grand mal seizure, as hard as he was arching combined with how tense his limbs were. No doubt his blood pressure and heart rate both were Sky-high at this point, but they’d to wait out the End of the exorcism before doing anything.

_ “Váde Sátana, Invéntor et Magíster ómnis falláciae, hóstis humánae salútis. Da lócum Chrísto, in quo níhil invenísti de opéribus tuis–da lócum Ecclésia Uni, Sanctae, Cathólicae, et Apostólicae, quam Chrístus ípse acquisívit sánguine suo. Humiliáre sub poténti mánu Dei–contremísce et éffuge, Invocáto a nóbis sáncto et terríbili nominé Jésu, quem Inferi trémunt, cui Virtútes Caelórum, et Potestátes, et Dominatiónes subjéctae sunt, quem Chérubim et Séraphim indeféssis vócibus láudant, dicéntes: Sánctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dóminus Déus Sábaoth,”_ Bishop Long continued. _“Dómine, exáudi oratiónem méam, et clámor meus ad te véniat. Dóminus vobíscum, et cum Spírito tuo. Orémus.”_

(Begone, Satan, Inventor and Master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation. Give place to Christ in Whom you have found none of your works–give place to the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church acquired by Christ at the price of His Blood. Stoop beneath the all-powerful Hand of God–tremble and flee when we Invoke the Holy and terrible Name of Jesus, this Name which causes Hell to tremble, this Name to which the Virtues, Powers, and Dominations of Heaven are humbly submissive, this Name which the Cherubim and Seraphim praise unceasingly repeating: Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord, the God of Hosts.

(O Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee. May the Lord be with thee, and with thy Spirit. Let us pray.)

_ “Ab insídiis diáboli, líbera nos, Dómine. Ut Ecclésiam tuam secúra tíbi fácias libertáte servíre, te rogámus, áudi nos. Ut inimícos sánctae Ecclésiae humiliáre dignéris, te rogámus, áudi nos._

_ “Déus Caéli, Deus Térræ, Deus Angelórum, Deus Archangelórum, Deus Patriarchárum, Deus Prophetárum, Deus Apostolórum, Deus Mártyrum, Deus Confessórum, Deus Vírginium, Deus qui potestátem hábes donáre Vítam post Mórtem, réquiem post labórem, quia non est álias Deus præter te, nec esse pótest nísi tu Creátor ómnium visibílium et invisibílium, cujus Régni non érit Finis, humíliter majestáti glóriae tuae supplicámus, ut ab ómni infernálium Spirítuum potestáte, láqueo, decéption et nequítia nos poténter liberáre, et incólumes custodíre dignéris. Per Chrístum Dóminum nóstrum. Ámen.”_

(From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord. That Thy Church may serve Thee in Peace and Liberty, we beseech Thee to hear us. That Thou may crush down all enemies of Thy Church, we beseech Thee to hear us.

(God of Heaven, God of Earth, God of Angels, God of Archangels, God of Patriarchs, God of Prophets, God of Apostles, God of Martyrs, God of Confessors, God of Virgins, God Who has Power to give Life after Death and rest after work, because there is no other God than Thee and there can be no other, for Thou art the Creator of all things, visible and invisible, of Whose Reign there shall be no End, we humbly prostrate ourselves before Thy glorious Majesty and we beseech Thee to deliver us by Thy power from all the tyranny of the infernal Spirits, from their snares, their lies and their furious wickedness. Deign, O Lord, to grant us Thy powerful Protection and to keep us safe and sound. We beseech Thee through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen.)


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby's Life continues to hang in the Balance...

Practically as soon as that final _amen_ died away, Bobby’s entire body went limp as if he were a rag doll, his head lolled over the back of the chair. Everybody in the room felt a sudden shift in the Energy, as if every last ounce of Darkness’d been sucked out and replaced with pure Light, much like when Aisling’d lit that black and white Candle back in her living room. They could tell the exorcism’d worked in terms of Banishing the demon that’d been trying to possess the bassist, but the young Witch now had another Fear.

He didn’t appear to be taking even shallow breaths, and while she knew that might just be her Imagination from not watching as closely as she shoulda, she still wanted to be sure. Darting over to the chair he was still chained to, she cupped his jaw in her left palm, this such a practiced skill that no one else even realized she was using her middle and ring fingers to check his pulse as she turned his head slightly.

“Shit! Somebody get me keys to these locks, bolt cutters–anything!” Aisling snapped.

“What?” the drummer gasped, everyone’s eyes widening.

“Do ya want him to _stay_ dead, damn it?” She glared as she looked up.

Dave was the one to dart into the utility room, and she wasn’t surprised he actually Returned with a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. Careful not to hurt the already-injured man, he quickly snipped at the links till Jack could catch him when he toppled forward so he wouldn’t get hurt any worse. He might be clinically dead at the moment, but if he could essentially be Resurrected, there was no sense in giving him a head injury that still might End up killing him. As it stood, there was no guarantee that any amount of CPR was gonna work, but this stubborn young woman wasn’t gonna just let him die. He’d too much he still needed to live for, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t signed a DNR since the last Time they really got to talk.

With his limp body laid out on the floor, Aisling ripped his shirt as if she possessed the Strength of a demon, herself. Now that she could actually see what she was doing, she laced her fingers together so her right hand was on top, settled the heels of her hands in the Center of his chest, and gave a forceful downward shove. That action was repeated another twenty-nine Times before she bothered stopping, and that was only so she could pinch his nose shut at the same Time she pulled his chin down slightly and tipped his head back before lowering her own.

Even as she continued her efforts at CPR to the point that they eventually heard a sudden crack, Dave was already on the phone with EMS while his son knelt next to her. The teenager knew CPR just as well, not to mention that it was exhausting, and he knew she might eventually need to be tagged out. All the rest of Poison, Howie, the Bishop, and the Major Archbishop could do was stand back so they’d Space to work and watch helplessly as Bobby’s Life hung in the Balance.

After about ten minutes, Jack finally tapped the young Witch’s arm after she’d given another two breaths, which made her look up. He gently shooed her back, quickly taking over so she could take a few moments to catch her breath, considering her vigorous efforts. Nobody could blame her, though–after all, they didn’t want all this hard work put into finding and helping him to be for nothing.

“Don’t give up, Jack,” Aisling panted. “I can still feel him floating around in here–he’s still with us.”

_Bobby watched from above his prone body as Dragonfly took charge the second he’d gone limp in that chair, clinically dead before his head had even lolled back. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told that damned demon it’d have to kill him to keep Control over him, but even during this outta-body experience, he wasn’t gonna give up without a fight._

_ He clung to his physical body as tightly as he could for not being able to actually grab it or anything, a determined expression on what he’d presume to be his Astral face. He was as determined not to go before his Time as they were to bring him back, judging by the vigorous CPR to the point he actually heard at least one rib snap before the teenager tagged his friend out. That brought a slight smile to his face, though_–_if there was anyone on the Planet who was more stubborn than even him and Bret, it was this young Witch who’d always done nothing but try to help him in one way or another._

_ What seemed like forever, but was actually only about twenty minutes, everyone heard sirens blaring outside the house. It seemed that EMS and possibly the cops’d finally arrived on-scene, and even if it was just the former, they’d better tools that’d help bring him back. That gave the bassist even more Hope, not to mention made him more determined to hang in there since it wasn’t like he was seeing that supposed White Light most claimed to see when they hung in limbo like this._

As the EMTs ran through the front door with a loaded-down stretcher between them, Jack finally paused his efforts to catch his own breath. He gladly scooted back as much as the young Witch did to let them take over, praying to every Deity in existence that none of this was in vain. Even as these two got the prone man hooked up to a monitor, another pair followed behind to give him and Aisling a thorough check. Since they were the ones to give CPR, they wanted to be sure they were just a bit winded from their efforts and not in more serious trouble, themselves.

Watching the first pair use the monitor’s built-in defibrillator to send an electric current through Bobby’s torso was prolly one of the hardest things any of those who knew him’d ever had to watch. Seeing his back arch much like it had in that Vision back at the Witch’s cabin before his torso simply flopped Lifelessly again was something they were all pretty sure would be nightmare-inducing for a long Time to come.

It was the sudden _beep_ that was quickly followed by another that caught everyone’s attention and made them look at the screen of the monitor. With each _beep_ it made, they watched the line on that screen make a jump that resembled a Mountain in its shape, and there was only one thing that could mean. Knowing it was part of their job and just wanting to be absolutely sure, one of the EMTs pressed two fingers to his throat just under his jaw, grinning as he looked up at his partner.

“We got him back!” he said. “Time to get him packaged up and roll out!”

“Thank the Gods!” Aisling sighed in relief as his band mates slumped against one another. “I knew he’s a fighter!”

“Any of ya guys his next-of-kin or Power of Attorney?” the second EMT asked, she and her partner working on getting Bobby ready to be taken to the closest hospital.

“I’ll take a gamble and say I am,” the young Witch answered. “Last Time we really talked, Bobby’d left me as his Power of Attorney, in the event that his now-ex-wife couldn’t be reached and something happened to him.”

“Somehow, I doubt that’s Changed,” Rikki piped up. “I’ll still go with, too, since I know how to get in touch with his mom, though.”

“Works for us,” the EMTs said in unison, hauling up the stretcher he was now strapped down to as they rose to their feet.

Not wanting to waste Time, the drummer picked Aisling up bridal-style since she was obviously exhausted from giving his friend CPR. He waited till the stretcher was locked into place in the back of the ambulance, then set her feet on the flooring so she could ride in the back. Once she was able to move to the spare seat, he closed one of the doors while the male EMT closed the other, then both headed up to climb into the front seats so they could take off.

Dave agreed to make sure the bassist’s vacation house was locked up and keep an eye on things to be sure no one broke in during any of their absences, just like he always did. He insisted on being kept up to date on his condition, which was something none of the young men were willing to spite him on. That being said, the other half of Poison, their manager, and the pair of Catholics all loaded back into their rental truck, Richie behind the wheel this Time since he was the Calmest. The entire Time they followed behind the ambulance transporting their friend, they were all praying to any and all Deities they could think of that even if it took him a week, he’d eventually open his eyes and smile at them again.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the exorcism really Begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start getting better, so there's really no need to skip chapters anymore...  
~Angel

A week passed after the Night of Bobby’s exorcism, and still he remained in the coma he’d slipped into upon his heart getting jumpstarted. Howie and the rest of Poison were struggling not to lose Hope every Time they came to visit him, only to find that he was still unconscious and hadn’t shown any signs of waking up. The only thing that really kept their hope alive at this point was the fact that he was still breathing on his own since he hadn’t needed to be intubated, and his heart rate was still strong and steady. Even his blood pressure hardly fluctuated, that usually only happening when the nurses repositioned him slightly to avoid the development of bed sores.

The whole Time that he remained in the ICU after being Medivac’d down to Salt Lake City, Aisling was the one person who never left his side. Every Time she’d to let go of his hands for so much as a potty break, she could sense the Change in his Energy, as if he were begging her not to leave him. Nobody else except Richie could seem to feel it, but she wasn’t surprised–it seemed the young guitarist was the only one who came even close to being as sensitive to Energy as she was.

It was on the seventh Morn after the exorcism’d been performed that the bassist finally showed a sign of waking up. The young Witch he’d befriended was asleep next to his bed, her head laying on the uncomfortable mattress next to his hip as she once again held both his hands. No one but her knew why she insisted on that, none of them realizing she was essentially sucking out any harmful Energy while feeding him positive Energy in an effort to help him recover faster. Apparently, her efforts were working since the doctor in charge of his care thought he’d be out for another week, but his eyes were Beginning to flutter.

When Bobby finally managed to crack open his eyes, he couldn’t help a slight wince at how bright whatever room he was in seemed. He didn’t really get a chance to look around before he was forced to scrunch said eyes shut again, but what lil he’d seen–not to mention could still smell and hear–told him he was in a hospital rather than his vacation home.

“Ugh–fuck, my head,” he groaned softly.

With a gasp, his friend bolted upright, their hands still remaining joined. “Bobby?”

_ “Mmm,_ Dragonfly,” the bassist managed, turning his head toward his shoulder to cough.

“Sweet Lady, you’re awake!” she laughed, careful to keep her volume low. “Doubt I even need to ask how you’re feeling, ’cuz it’s prolly something akin to road kill.”

“Yeah, that feels about right,” Bobby said, managing to open his eyes more this Time as he looked at her. “The fuck happened to me?”

“Ya don’t remember, huh?” the young Witch chuckled.

“Well, aside from going to my vacation house after we killed the tour early, not really,” he answered. “And I don’t remember why I wanted to go there instead of home, either.”

“Let’s just say ya were right about going to Bobby Mackey’s being a really bad idea till your doc checks ya out,” Aisling told him, letting go of his left hand long enough to press the _Call_ button on his bed rail.

As they waited for someone to answer the page, he slowly became aware of feeling like he’d gotten into another motorcycle wreck that’d left him covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises. The bassist also became aware of his chest hurting in a couple different ways, but he didn’t get a chance to ask about that before someone knocked and the door opened.

Seconds later, a nurse appeared with a guy in a lab coat hot on her heels, and they seemed surprised to see his eyes open. Quickly shaking off their surprise, they moved to give him as quick an exam as they could while still being thorough about it, which he wasn’t exactly happy about. Being in as much pain as he was just made him wanna go back to sleep for a while, but he wanted his questions answered too much to let them give him anything for it just yet. Not surprised by that, the medical personnel chuckled and just said to give them another page once he was ready for anything to numb him and put him back to sleep.

Looking at his friend, Bobby steeled himself for whatever she could possibly tell him in response to his questions, starting with what she’d meant about Bobby Mackey’s. He couldn’t help his eyes widening as he listened to her say that apparently, he’d developed at least a demonic attachment while he was there, which’d only spiraled outta Control over the last few months. Everything she told him about what was typically seen as a demon moved through the various stages of possession sounded exactly like what he’d gone through.

“Holy shit,” he breathed as she concluded her tale. “So I’ve been possessed since June?”

“Well, maybe not quite possessed,” Aisling told him. “We think it was really just getting to that point by the Time y’all killed your tour.”

“Then what the hell was it doing to me?” the bassist asked, glad to find that the use of that word no longer burnt his tongue.

“Oppression, which’s basically the step that comes before possession,” she answered. “Trust me, ya scared the shit outta poor Richie more than once ’cuz of that thing.”

“Wait, what–what’d I do to Richie?” Bobby asked in confusion.

“Not that I’m completely discounting his claims, butcha supposedly shoved him against a wall by his throat a few Times before he started refusing to sleep on the bus y’all were sharing,” the young Witch chuckled.

“Fuck, I’ma have some serious apologizing to do,” he groaned.

“Nah, I doubt that,” Aisling chuckled. “I think he’s already forgiven ya, now that he knows it likely wasn’t _you_ acting as much as the demon.”

The bassist was more than a bit surprised to find out the rest of his band with the exception of former member CC’d been there to witness the exorcism. He was even more surprised to find out it’d taken them and his manager in addition to his neighbor and the man’s son to pin him down till they could literally chain him to a chair. Looking down at his battered body, he just couldn’t believe that–human or inhuman–he’d temporarily possessed that kinda Strength.

Course, now that he thought about it, having been possessed and clearly fighting like a madman during the exorcism explained all the injuries he’d sustained and the pain they were causing. Well, with the exception of the broken rib Aisling admitted to giving him when she’d started CPR, mostly ’cuz she was a lil too wound up from said ritual and too determined to keep him alive.

Even despite knowing she’d given him one of his injuries, Bobby couldn’t help a chuckle as he reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. After all, she’d effectively saved his Life, both in not letting the Pentacle still around his neck be taken off and by being so quick to start CPR before his Spirit’d Time to cross over. He might not like being in pain, but he could forgive a transgression such as that since he knew he was in at least that lil bit of pain for a good reason. In fact, it was so easily forgiven that he was quick to tell her so, which made his friend grin as she slumped in her chair slightly.

“I swear, I feel like I could sleep for a month,” the bassist chuckled, readjusting himself slightly since his neck and upper back were hurting.

“At least you’re still alive _to_ sleep, whether it’s a few hours or longer,” Aisling said. “That’s all that really matters to me, not to mention the guys.”

“Speaking of, where the hell are they?” he asked curiously.

“Prolly signing in as visitors, if they stick to the schedule they’ve been keeping,” the young Witch answered after peeking at her watch.

“Guess they’ll be surprised today, won’t they?” Bobby asked with a grin.

“Depends on how devious you’re gonna be, ya asshole,” she laughed.

Giving her one last grin, he managed to school his expression into one of practiced blankness, letting his head loll like it’d been more often than it hadn’t for the past week. He allowed the rest of his body go just as limp, making it appear that he was still comatose as his friend bit back laughter. As they heard footsteps approaching his room, she managed to wipe the grin off her face as she held both his hands, feigned concern replacing the grin as someone knocked on his door.

After being given permission to enter, the rest of his band and his manager walked into the room, Richie careful to close the door behind them. The bassist was hard-pressed not to crack a grin right then and there when they let out a collective depressed sigh upon being told that, as far as the young Witch knew, he still hadn’t shown any signs of waking.

“Man, I hate to say that every Day he’s out is another Day I lose a little more Hope,” Bret sighed as he settled by his friend’s feet.

“Me, too, dude,” the drummer agreed, now perched near the foot of the bed by his calf.

“This waiting game’s starting to drive me more insane than being trapped on a haunted bus with a possessed man,” Richie agreed. “And lemme tell ya, that’s a maddening experience I wouldn’t Wish on even my worst enemy.”

Aisling somehow managed not to smile, never mind laugh at their dejected statements.

“Here’s hoping he shows some kinda sign soon,” Rikki said, gently patting his friend’s thigh just above his knee.

“Don’tcha know you’re not supposed to molest the comatose?”

Startled by the sudden question since they hadn’t seen their friend’s lips move in the slightest, but they’d swear they heard his voice, the remains of Poison and Howie all jumped.

“I mean, damn–I think I’ve been touched by hands that _didn’t_ belong to me _enough_ lately.” That was when Bobby lifted his head with a grin, eyes wide open as he looked at each of his band mates.

“Holy shit–you’re awake!” they cried in unison, those freaked expressions quickly replaced with grins of their own.

“Yeah, have been for a lil while,” he chuckled, wincing when they each gave him a hug. _“Ooh,_ guys, not quite so rough–still pretty sore here.”

“Sorry, man,” Rikki chuckled as they let go. “Ya just have no idea how relieved we are.”

“I dunno about that,” the bassist said, still grinning. “From what Dragonfly tells me, I can imagine well enough.”

“Hey, the last Time we saw ya _any_ kinda animated, your eyes were completely black from corner-to-corner, ya were fighting like a madman, and the racketcha were making could only be described as inhuman!” Bret laughed. “Fuck, even your half-growled one-liner in _Your Mama Don’t Dance_ doesn’t come close to the Sounds that were coming outta your mouth!”

“Please, just spare me,” Bobby chuckled. “That’s the kinda shit I _don’t_ wanna imagine!”

Unable to help laughing, the guys gave him looser hugs before settling in extra chairs a nurse finally brought him, which allowed him to readjust his legs again so they were comfortable. They weren’t surprised to be told he didn’t really remember shit, in regards to what’d happened to him ever since that Fateful Night back in early-June. They also weren’t surprised when he said he basically felt like he’d felt after his motorcycle wreck in ’88 from the more minor injuries–well, if deep cuts and scratches could be called minor, that is.

Other than that, his neck and upper back hurting from those herniated discs, and his chest being sore from that broken rib, the bassist was really just feeling tired. None of them were very surprised to hear that, especially once Aisling explained that the body did the majority of its Healing and other repair work while a person was asleep. That certainly explained why he’d remained in a mini-coma for the last week, if his body was trying to Heal the worst of its injuries as much as possible before allowing him to wake up. If that was really the case, they’d have dealt with him staying in a coma for a month, if that’s what it took for him to Heal, just as long as he eventually woke up.

It didn’t take long for Bobby to grimace as he shifted again, his pain tolerance coming close to maxing out for the moment. The young Witch chuckled as she hit the _Call_ button on his bed rail again, telling him there was no sense in trying to be stoic right now. Knowing she wasn’t gonna let him try to be all macho and shit, he simply smirked and rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t try to argue with her logic.

As the nurse came in to check him over again–which also included changing the collection bag for the catheter he hadn’t even realized he sported yet–he couldn’t help but ask what they were gonna do when he was released from here. He knew such a thing prolly wouldn’t happen for close to another week, but he wasn’t sure where they were planning on taking him. His friend was quick to tell him that, since it was closest and had been thoroughly Cleansed by both herself and Bishop Long, they figured they might as well just take him back to his vacation house for a while to recuperate.

“After all, it’s closer than even Los Angeles, never mind Melbourne,” she told him. “And it won’t require having to putcha on a plane when you’re already sore enough.”

“I guess that’s true enough,” Bobby agreed. “I just hope these idiots’re bunking in the guest rooms, if they haven’t all but moved into a nearby hotel.”

“Bret and Rikki’ve been bunking together,” Richie chuckled. “I’d be the lucky one with a room to myself, if Howie hadn’t come along.”

“Just do me a favor, guys,” the bassist said with a smirk. “Wash the damn sheets, if ya decide to fuck each other for some reason. I’d rather not touch your unborn spawn, shriveled-up or no.”

Even the nurse couldn’t help laughing at that, the bassist settling back into his hospital bed for a well-deserved, if painkiller-induced nap. Everyone who knew him knew he was kidding since he was well aware that none of his band mates were gay, but considering the situation, a lil humor was more than welcome. At least it showed that, aside from what’d been caused by the demon, he hadn’t Changed very much, if at all during the months he was possessed–that they knew of.

It wasn’t long before the Morphine he was given started to kick in, and since he was already tired to Begin with, Bobby didn’t even try to fight when his eyes started drifting shut. The young Witch gently grabbed his left hand, her other brushing his hair back outta his face as she murmured soft, Soothing words in his ear. Within moments of that caring action, he dozed off for the much-needed sleep to let his body Heal even more.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets discharged and starts considering a few Life Changes...

Another week passed before Bobby was discharged, just like he’d suspected would happen the Day he regained consciousness from that mini-coma. He wasn’t quite as sore as he was, although his neck, upper back, and chest still caused him the most pain over anything else. Luckily, he hadn’t fucked up those discs that were already giving him problems with all his fighting and struggling during the exorcism, so that was one more piece of good news.

Once he’d been discharged, Bret and Rikki worked together to get him loaded up into the rental truck they’d taken back to the airport long enough to extend the rental agreement on during one of their trips to Salt Lake City. Aisling–whom he still called Dragonfly more often than not–and Richie were back at his vacation house, working on doing some cleaning up since it’d sat empty for so long. Howie was working with his neighbor, Dave, and the guy’s son to chop more firewood since he’d a Wood stove and Wood-burning fireplace he used up here more often than the furnace. He was just glad to hear that they hadn’t burnt the place down while he was in the hospital, which he was more than glad to get away from.

Upon arriving at the vacation house, the bassist was surprised to see another car in the driveway, but chalked it up to one of the others getting another rental for running errands. His bigger focus was getting outta the Tahoe they’d brought him to his home-away-from-home in without breaking or otherwise hurting anything else since the driveway was a bit slippery.

_ “Daddy!”_

Surprised by the sudden squeal the minute the pair of blondes got him through the front door, he couldn’t help a wince as something plowed right into his leg and hugged it tightly. “What the–”

“Hey now, Zach–what’d I tell chu about being gentle with Daddy?”

Looking down toward his feet, Bobby saw it was his young son, who pouted up at the one to speak to him in a half-admonishing tone.

“But me missed Daddy,” the toddler said, which made him chuckle.

“And I’m sure Daddy missed chu, too,” Dragonfly told him. “But Daddy’s still got a lotta _owwies,_ so chu gosta be careful with him.”

“Sowwy, Daddy,” Zach mumbled.

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” he chuckled, wincing again as he managed to kneel down so he could hug him. “But Miss Dragonfly’s right about Daddy still being sore.”

“How chu gets hurted?” his son asked, eyes wide as he looked up at him.

“Well, the easiest way to put it’s that something Daddy couldn’t see or hear was doing it,” Bobby answered. “It’s kinda hard to explain, buddy.”

Gasping, the lil boy gave him another hug before letting go and darting into the living room, where he could hear him chattering a mile a minute to someone else.

“Hope ya don’t mind getting Mishy to bring Zach up here,” Dragonfly said as his blonde band mates helped him back up. “I figured he’d wanna see ya, ’cuz he didn’t exactly believe me when I said ya were doing better, but had to stay in the hospital for a while longer earlier this week.”

“Hey, I’m not about to turn down a chance to see my lil man,” the bassist chuckled. “We’re just gonna have to keep him from pouncing on me like he’s known for doing.”

Laughing, the young Witch quickly led the musical trio into the living room, where Mishy was settled on one End of the couch while Richie was curled up on the other with a book. He couldn’t help wincing as the blondes got him settled in his recliner, which his son promptly crawled up into with him. A smile curved his mouth as the boy snuggled against him, seeming almost like he thought he’d disappear again, if he so much as blinked.

Bobby’d to gently readjust his head since he’d laid it right over one of the sore spots caused by the defibrillator that’d gotten used on him. Having one’s heart restarted with a helluva shock didn’t exactly feel good once one woke up, and he wasn’t an exception to that rule. He’d mild burns on his chest, now that they’d Healed over the last couple weeks, and that wasn’t including his still-broken rib.

“So just what happened to ya?” his ex-wife asked, her brow cocked curiously.

“Well, I wasn’t kidding about it being something I couldn’t see or hear,” he answered. “Prolly not the best of ideas to talk about it in front of Zach, though, since it’s hard to explain to a two-Year-old.”

“Three now, Bobby,” she dead-panned.

“Wait, really?” The bassist’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, sadly, it’s the twentieth now,” Dragonfly told him. “Of December, that is.”

“Dang it,” Bobby sighed, looking down at his son. “Daddy didn’t mean to miss chu birfday, buddy.”

“No cares, long as chu gets betters!” the toddler said, grinning up at him.

“Well, at least chu’s not mad at Daddy since I was hurt and couldn’t help it,” he chuckled, ruffling his hair.

Zach squealed and gently batted at his hand, but that grin didn’t disappear from his face.

It wasn’t long before the toddler started to doze off against him, and the bassist was honestly tempted to join him for that nap. Based on his ex-wife’s expression, though, he wasn’t gonna get any sleep till he’d explained what’d gone on as well as he could for still getting his memories of the last few months back. That just made him set the recliner into just enough motion to make sure his son fell asleep deeply enough that he wouldn’t notice being picked up and taken elsewhere to nap.

Once he’d zonked good and hard for his nap, Dragonfly gently scooped him up from his daddy’s lap and carried Zach down the hall toward the bedrooms. Bobby didn’t doubt for a second she was taking him to the master suite, if only so he’d be able to catch his scent from the bedding in an effort to keep him from waking up too soon and overhearing something he shouldn’t.

Assured his son wouldn’t hear him talking about having been possessed, he glanced back up at the woman he’d been married to up till a couple months ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if his expression was appraising as he looked at her, and it wasn’t just from trying to recall what’d happened since that Summer. Even right after she’d filed for divorce that Spring, he’d been reassessing their entire six-Year relationship, wondering if she’d ever been right for him in the first place. In hindsight, while she mighta been a sweetheart in a lotta ways, Mishy was certainly an expectant and sometimes demanding woman.

“Again, I ask, what happened to ya?” said ex-wife asked, cocking a brow at him.

“To be honest, I’m still piecing a lotta what happened together,” he sighed. “From what I’ve been told, though, I was literally possessed–or at least on my way there.”

His ex’s jaw dropped as her eyes shot open so wide, he thought they’d pop outta their sockets.

“I know ya never liked my being friends with Dragonfly, but she’s never done anything but try to help me,” Bobby continued. “Teaching me how to read the Energy around me was just one of those things she did, and it helped me a lot more Times than I can count.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“That I could always tell when ya were jealous ’cuz I’d have a phone call with her, even when ya tried to say ya weren’t,” the bassist told her. “Or I could sense when somebody was about to try jumping me backstage or something and avoid it before it ever happened.”

Mishy blushed furiously at getting called out on having been jealous, which was mostly ’cuz she’d never met Dragonfly till now.

“As for what happened–well, Bret suggested going to some honky-tonk that was pretty local to our Cincinnati show back in June,” he continued. “None of us were really going for the Music since he’s the only one that even remotely likes country–it was more so the Ghost tour, or just being along for the ride, that made the rest of us go.”

“Eh, the Thought of a Ghost tour just sounded more like a gimmick than not,” Richie said with a shrug. “Then again, it was something we hadn’t ever done before, so why not?”

“And I really couldn’t have cared less, ’cuz I was more of a mind to get drunk that Night,” Bobby agreed.

“As always,” his ex-wife grumbled.

“Well, ya know, if ya hadn’t tried to essentially chain me to the back porch and barely gimme scraps, maybe we wouldn’t have been fighting nearly as much,” he said, unable to help snapping slightly. “And that was on top of forbidding me to so much as look at a groupie when I was on tour.”

Before she could even get a chance to ream him out for his opinion on what their relationship’d turned into before she filed for divorce, the bassist held up a hand so he could continue his story. Now that he’d Time to go over what’d happened, he remembered telling his band that he hadn’t thought they should bother going into the honky-tonk Bret’d been talking about.

Said band mates were downright horrified as he explained how he’d suddenly felt bombarded by pure hatred and evil the second they’d lurched to a stop. What seemed to horrify them even more was when he said that what he’d meant by Seeing things he shouldn’t have been Seeing in his head, he was talking about the history of the place that tour Guide’d told them about. He’d Seen that drugged young woman get her head lopped off down in the basement right next to the Well that’d eventually been covered up, only to be uncovered again later on. He’d Seen various murders happen in the building, not to mention out in the parking lot, as the mob basically went to War against the former owner and patrons when it was known as Primrose.

Equally as disturbing was that Bobby’d seen young Johanna’s musician boyfriend get hanged in the bathroom, then the young woman poison her father before shooting herself. Again, the young woman’d died right next to the Well in the basement, which pretty much all the locals swore up and down was a portal straight to Hell. It was no Wonder someone’d wanted to cover the thing up at some point in the Land’s history, no doubt an attempt to stop anymore evil from pouring outta it.

Hearing him say that he’d Seen the caretaker, Carl, go down into the basement while they were renovating right after Bobby Mackey bought the place and start ripping up the floor was almost as disturbing. That part of the story jumped right up there with the other local legends in terms of how disturbing it was when he said he’d Seen flashes of said caretaker going through much the same thing he’d ultimately gone through. All the attacks from an unseen Force, hearing shit he shouldn’t have been hearing, his personality Changes to the point that he’d choked Richie on a number of occasions–all of it was almost identical to Carl’s story.

“And that’s not including all the Times I’d go to wash my hands and swear the sink filled up with blood,” the bassist said. “Or all the Times I’d flip up the toilet seat to piss, and nearly shit myself ’cuz I swear, it looked like the bowl was full of blood.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rikki breathed, looking downright horrified.

“No Wonder ya were fuckin’ terrified all the Time,” the shorter blonde said.

“No, _that_ was from all the nightmares,” Bobby told them. “If it wasn’t _me_ who died in practically every gruesome manner known to man, it was _Zach_ who did.”

Even his ex-wife looked sickened at the Thought of their son dying, especially in a gruesome manner. “Now I get why ya kept calling in the middle of the Night and shit, desperate just to hear his voice.”

“Can’t really blame me for wanting to know he was all right since half the Time, I couldn’t tell Reality from bullshit,” he agreed. “I mean, for all I knew, that thing was attacking both of ya just ’cuz you’d _any_ amount of a relationship with me.”

“All right, so what does this make ya now–a psychic-medium?” Richie asked, sounding curious.

“Honestly, fuck if I know,” the bassist sighed, tilting his head to rest it in his palm after settling his elbow on his chair arm.

“That depends.”

Looking over at the mouth of the hallway, he saw that Dragonfly’d finally Returned from putting Zach down for his nap. “Whaddaya mean, Dragonfly?”

“Well, not everyone who’s clinically dead for a while winds up with what can be dubbed as psychic-medium abilities,” she said, settling in the other recliner next to his. “You’ve always been pretty sensitive to Energy, though–much like Richie is, honestly–but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll wind up with such abilities, especially since ya swear ya never saw the Light.”

“Wait, what?” Mishy looked as confused as she did curious.

“Yeah, that exorcism technically killed me for a few minutes,” Bobby chuckled. “Whyddaya think my chest hurts since I’m obviously not having a heart attack?”

He wasn’t surprised that she wanted proof of that, which made him sit up enough to unbutton his shirt so he could spread it to reveal the slight burn marks on the left side of his chest. That was apparently enough for his ex-wife to realize he wasn’t kidding before he even said he’d wound up getting CPR from a combination of the young Witch and his neighbor’s son, from what he’d been told. Obviously, CPR prolly wouldn’t have brought him back without some damn good Luck, if he was in that condition immediately after the exorcism Ended, but a defibrillator certainly woulda.

Buttoning his shirt again, the bassist sat back in his chair again as he explained how that CPR’d given him a broken rib, so even without mild-to-moderate burns, his chest’d still be sore for a while. He didn’t even have to bother explaining about all the bites, claw marks, and bruises she’d seen running up and down the length of his torso, only saying they pretty much covered everything but his crotch at this point. Even his face and neck sported a few scratches and scrapes, although nothing like the rest of his body’d taken during the last few months. Considering he’d recalled starting to cough up blood just before his saviors arrived the Night of his exorcism, he was beyond lucky just to be alive.

No one–not even Dave and Jack once they and Howie came back in–could deny just how much Truth there was to his words when it came to being lucky to be alive. Sure, he was gonna be a Changed man, if only in putting more stock in the supernatural and paranormal than he’d ever done before. In all Honesty, Bobby was actually considering converting to Paganism, given that being Christian’d seemed to get him into this mess in the first place while the polytheistic religion’d been part of what’d saved him. That, and Dragonfly having told him a few interesting things over the Years really had him reevaluating his religious choices.

“Well, nobody’s gonna force ya,” the young Witch assured him. “Unlike a lotta other religions–monotheistic ones, in particular–that’s just not how Witches and other Practitioners of the Craft operate.”

“Really?” Bret asked. He looked just as curious as all his band mates, even the young guitarist.

“We’re teachers, students, leaders, followers, warriors, Peace-keepers, and many other things,” Dragonfly answered. “But we don’t force others into believing the way we do simply ’cuz that’s how we believe–that’s more of a Catholic thing, from what I’ve seen.”

“Why single out Catholicism, though?” Richie asked.

“’Cuz, from the research I’ve done over the last few Years, they’re the ones who ripped off things like our Sabbats, threw a new name on ’em, and tried to sell ’em as their own,” she answered with a snort. “If I ever get a Wild Hare up my ass and decide to look into Judaism and Islam–or any other more monotheistic religion–a lil more, I’ll gladly amend that statement.”

“Just shows how open-minded ya really are,” the bassist chuckled.

“But in all seriousness–I’ll teach ya what I can, then pointcha to other, more experienced Witches for what I can’t,” the young Witch told him. “Same goes for anyone else even remotely interested in Paganism. Course, that’s only for those actually serious about learning, ’cuz I’m not wasting my Time on those who’re just gonna call me a liar or say that Pagan beliefs are stupid and a load of hog-wash.”

“Hey, that’s fair enough,” Rikki agreed. “Kinda like trying to teach someone how to play an instrument ’cuz ya know how, yourself–what’s the point, if they’re not gonna listen and put in the practice it takes to master it?”

“My point exactly,” Dragonfly laughed. “It’d be pointless for ya to sit down and try to teach me shit with a drum kit when I’m more interested in bass, when it comes to anything to do with a rock band.”

“Wait, seriously?” Bobby asked. “You’ve said thatcha hated strings ever since we met!”

Even his ex-wife couldn’t help laughing at the mischievous grin she shot him, which he could tell was more mischievous than anyone else thought. Then again, he was the only one who knew her well enough to tell she was half-flirting with him since she was never very obvious about that kinda thing unless she really wanted to be.

The rest of the Day seemed to pass relatively quickly, the bassist surprised he was able to get along with Mishy even half as well as they were, whether their son was in the room or not. Whether their divorce’d been brought on mostly by his being at least demonically oppressed or a combination of other factors, he doubted he’d ever get back together with her. He’d tried working out their problems before it ever got to the point of getting divorced, and he wasn’t the type to give someone a second chance after they’d fucked up that royally, knowing they could very well do it again.

By the Time he finally got to bed that Night, Bobby was thoroughly exhausted from getting caught up with his friends, but especially lil Zach. He couldn’t help a smile, though, as he saw said lil boy curled up in the Center of his bed, but snuggled up to the young Witch, who’d fallen asleep while reading him a bedtime story. As he crawled into bed so the toddler was sammiched between them, he couldn’t help hoping that his Life continued to get better, and that he didn’t take anymore crazy detours.


End file.
